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le-amewzing · 2 years

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36 Hours

Just when I thought I was out of this universe, a missing moment pulls me back in. ;P *Note: This is set in my "20 Winks" universe and is set during the events described in the oneshot, "What's Yours Is Mine, What's Mine Is Yours," but this can be enjoyed on its own~ I just highly rec reading the previously published stories first for major feels. :3c

Fic: "36 Hours" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Tom Dalton, Timothy McGee, & implied Alden Parker/Jess Knight (so please tag with Parknight, ty~ c:), with cameos from Nick Torres, Ronnie Tyler, & Dale Sawyer, as well as a background OC

Rating: light T

Words: ~4,710

Additional info: suspense, friendship, romance, 3rd person POV

Summary: Disgraced former Special Agent Tom Dalton has some visitors, but it's the one who has nothing to say that frightens him. -—Or, McGee and Parker question an imprisoned suspect, and McGee leaves with more questions than before.

Dalton had come to appreciate exercise more behind bars. He'd been fit enough, during his days as an NCIS REACT Agent, and less so once he'd become Supervisory Special Agent. But being behind bars had robbed him of distractions that once kept him from focusing on his physique.

Not to mention being in prison meant he couldn't enjoy his cigarettes the way he had, long ago, atop the roof of NCIS headquarters. No, cigarettes were currency, and he couldn't acquire them like a free man. Dalton had to be careful when he had them, and he risked a smoke only when he absolutely needed it.

"Dalton!"

One of the guards—ah, that was Ewing, because only his shrillness could cut through the post-lunch clamor inmates produced—stood by the doors leading out into the yard. Ewing squinted in Dalton's direction and beckoned to him with an impatient wave of his hand.

Dalton ground his teeth, gnashing the freshly lit treasure hanging between his lips. Of course today, one of his rare smoking days, the guards decided to get on his case. Normally they looked the other way when it came to these things, because little vices were nothing to concern themselves with, but Dalton dutifully dropped the cigarette on the dusty concrete and stamped the butt out with his shoe. So far, his stay at this particular Camp Fed had been agreeable, but that was thanks mostly to his good behavior. Dalton didn't want to mess with that.

"You could use some sun, Ewing," Dalton quipped once he was within earshot of the pasty corrections officer.

Ewing frowned, not partaking in their typical polite banter. He stepped aside for Dalton to pass, closed the door behind them, and unhooked the pair of cuffs from his belt. "You have visitors, Dalton."

Procedure explained the lack of friendliness. Dalton held his wrists behind him and eyed Ewing while he was shackled. "Anyone I know?"

"A pair of feds, from NCIS."

Ah. Dalton's eyes widened at the news, an amused spark burning to life in him. Suddenly, he no longer cared about today's wasted cigarette…especially if the agents here right now were here because of previous ones well spent.

Ewing gauged his reaction and narrowed his blue eyes (pale, like the rest of him). "Surprised? I was, too. Didn't think you had any friends left at your old agency."

Dalton shook his head. He tamped down his excitement as Ewing came around front to lead the way to the visitors' area. "No," he answered honestly, "I don't think I do, either."

Their path from the inner courtyard exit where daily recreation occurred snaked through the prison at long intervals and ninety-degree angles. It wasn't a maze, but the length was an abysmally boring though healthy one, and Dalton had never bothered memorizing the path, understanding he'd never get out of here on his own. Besides, the visitors' area was right up by the main entrance and not far from the warden's office—meaning it was one of the most heavily guarded places in the prison. Making a mad dash out of here, even in decent shape, was not a risk Dalton wanted to take.

Dalton followed Ewing to the entrance and past it, catching the eyes of some other personnel. Some of them looked at him curiously (maybe they wondered over the visit, too?), but many ignored him, as they tended to do with all the inmates, unless the inmates gave them a reason to pay attention.

Ewing halted him outside a room that was little more than another cell, just slightly bigger in size and with solid, enclosed walls, the kind of room needed as though this were a visit with Dalton's lawyer. Ewing signed a clipboard another guard held out, and the latter then unlocked the door while Ewing re-cuffed Dalton's hands in the front. But before Ewing walked Dalton in, he turned to Dalton and said, "A reminder: Tom Dalton, you are in the care of this facility and have been on good behavior from the start. But you will remain handcuffed while speaking with these agents, and you will remain seated, or else."

Internally, Dalton rolled his eyes. Ewing's "or else" was such an empty little threat.

"I'll be right outside, Dalton," he added, and then he walked the prisoner in.

Standing in the room were two male agents, one Dalton recognized and one he didn't. Both turned his and Ewing's way the moment the door opened, and their eyes never left Dalton's face as Ewing got Dalton seated in the lone chair on the door-facing side of the small, metal table centered in the room.

Ewing faced them. "This is Prisoner Tom Dalton, as requested. You may freely question the prisoner on matters pertaining to your case, as indicated by word sent by his attorney this morning ahead of your meeting—"

Oh, really? Dalton's currency must've worked, if his lawyer knew the pickle he was in was a legal quagmire that would've sucked in both of them. He fought down a grin and a laugh.

"—and you are to follow house rules. Please stay on your side of the room at all times. Do not feed the prisoner. Do not give the prisoner anything to drink. Do not pass the prisoner anything—not even a pen or pencil to write something down for you. Dalton will remain handcuffed and seated at all times, as well, and I will be on the other side of this door, should you need anything."

The agent Dalton recognized nodded his head and gave Ewing a fleeting, professional smile. "Thank you."

Ewing returned the gesture, and then he was gone, leaving Dalton alone with his company.

Dalton decided to settle on that familiar face and let some of his own smile show. The links on his ugly, forced bracelets clinked as he leaned forward on the table and pointed up at the younger man. "McGee, right? One of Gibbs'."

McGee pursed his lips and cleared his throat. He pushed his jacket back, flashing his NCIS tin, and then gestured to himself and his partner. "Dalton, Special Agents Timothy McGee and Alden Parker. We have a lot to discuss."

Dalton shook his head at the formality. "Down to business, huh?" He glanced behind him at this new Parker fellow who took several steps back to lean against the far wall. He had no recollection of such a man in NCIS' history, so Dalton assumed he must've been some sort of outside hire or transfer. Ah, well, whatever. Dalton focused on McGee. "I'd say Gibbs has changed his tune, taking on not just young blood anymore—"

Parker didn't flinch at the prod.

"—but, then again, word gets around even in here. Especially about a man like Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

McGee hesitated. His pause was long enough for Dalton to continue.

"How's retirement treating the old dog?"

McGee grimaced at the choice of words. "We're not here to talk about Gibbs, Dalton."

Dalton dropped his shoulders in what he hoped was a relaxed, tired pose. "Hey, I don't get to see many people, McGee, least of all anyone from my NCIS days. And you and I are a bit alike, you know."

He could laugh, predicting the tiny furrow that formed between the guy's eyebrows. "How?"

Dalton shrugged. "I didn't hear only about Gibbs retiring. Your team fell apart. So did mine."

McGee bristled and clenched his jaw. "That's where you're wrong, Dalton. Our teams didn't fall apart. The one I'm a part of evolved. You literally destroyed yours."

…damn it. So, McGee had more of a backbone than Dalton imagined. Well, seeing as there was no use in being amiable towards him, Dalton dropped the pretense, as well as the half-assed smile. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest as best he could while handcuffed, which meant he managed primarily to tuck his hands under his armpits. "Fine. You want to talk business, talk business."

"We're here because you're trying to finish what you started, Dalton. Yesterday morning, Special Agent Jessica Knight's apartment was blown up."

Hearing her name brought the old investigation to mind. "My ire didn't lie with her, initially, you know. If Madden had just kept his nose out of my business with the vests—"

"We're not here to discuss Special Agent Madden."

"—but then he made it his business, and one thing led to another." Dalton frowned and tucked his chin into his chest. "I told her before: I didn't really want to take out the entire team."

Silence. Someone's foot ground on the floor in here. "Agents Madden, Ono, and Vargas are still dead, Dalton. If you never wanted to kill them, then why attack Knight?"

Dalton stared at McGee, gritted his teeth. "Because she's too stubborn for her own good. She refused to let up on the investigation that landed me in here." He knew the statement was inculpatory. NCIS agents never showed up unless they already knew at least half the story. Dalton could guess at which parts they were missing. "So—she survive?"

Parker stood eerily still in the back of the room, casual-like with his hands in his pockets, but that was the only notable thing about him. McGee's reactions were far more entertaining. The pale guy (not quite as alabaster as Ewing, but close enough) flushed with color at the thinly veiled disregard for Knight's status. He glared at Dalton, took a breath, and calmed, which smoothed out his round features. "Special Agent Knight is alive and safe, but her neighbors weren't so lucky. Three people were hurt in the blast, and two are critical. One of the critical is a five-year-old child, Dalton."

Again, he shrugged. They were collateral damage. But saying that aloud wouldn't help him right now. "Well, you've come to the right place."

"We need all the information you have about the person who took up the hit you put out on Knight."

And here Dalton couldn't help but offer a commiserating smile. "McGee. Come on. 'Person'?"

Another beat of silence. McGee's eyes widened, showing the whites all around his irises. "Dalton, exactly how many people did you hire?" He put down his notepad and pen, even, splaying his fingers on the cool tabletop.

Dalton withdrew his left hand from the warmth under his arm and scratched his shoulder by the seam of his shirtsleeve. "…hmm…"

"Dalton!"

He stopped scratching and held his hand out, fingers extended. "One for each member of my old team."

McGee paled (ah, now he looked like Ewing!). "Four?!"

"Hey, I led them, McGee. Count again." He waggled his fingers, thumb included.

The younger agent pulled a face. "Five. You hired…" He shook his head in disbelief and jotted it down. "We need names, numbers, addresses—everything. And now, Dalton."

But here was where Dalton figured his lawyer had caved too quickly. He pursed his lips and gave McGee the tiniest shake of his head. "I can help, but not yet. If I'm going to fork over information, I expect to get something for it. And I want a better cell than what I have."

This didn't impress McGee, who frowned but noted it regardless. On the other hand…

Dalton's demand made Parker twitch at last, which finally drew the prisoner's attention to the older agent.

Alden Parker, McGee had called him. …no, the name bounced around Dalton's head, but it didn't sound familiar to him, so he stopped trying to place the man in his memory. Besides, presently Parker was far more interesting, and Dalton sized him up. Parker dressed the part of a fed, with the suit and its pressed creases in all the right spots. He even wore a tie—a tie, for crying out loud! That put Dalton in mind of the relics running the different agencies nowadays. But that was where reading him stopped being easy.

Parker's hair was silver, and he had lines on his face, densest around his eyes. But Dalton couldn't determine his age. Older than Dalton? Younger, even by a few years? The multicolored scruff made it hard to say. And yet that wasn't what snagged the lion's share of his attention.

Parker's eyes… They were dark and seemed unfocused, but Parker's eyes unnerved Dalton when he realized Parker was, indeed, focused on him. Parker's dead stare burned holes in him, even as McGee resumed with the questions, of which Dalton only caught snippets thanks to this eerie concentration zeroed in on him.

Dalton swallowed a lump in his throat. It was funny, almost. After everything he'd seen in his REACT days, he didn't think there was much left that unnerved him.

"…ton. Dalton."

He actually was grateful for McGee to yank him back into the conversation. Dalton dropped his eyes to the table, ignoring the itchy feeling he had now, sitting here with them. "What?"

McGee huffed. "As I was saying, start from the beginning, with each name. And don't leave out any burners or any alternate…anything you can even guess at."

Dalton swallowed a second, tinier lump and nodded. "You'll—You'll need to start with Metro PD. There's a lieutenant there, an old friend I used to play cards with who's putting in his papers in a few years anyway…Jonathan Spence…"

McGee's pen flew over paper, and McGee flipped the pad as he filled the pages and Dalton handed him names and details. But their interaction wasn't the distraction Dalton hoped it would be, especially as this visit stretched out and certain points during the interview were punctuated by a dull cracking sound coming from the back of the room.

Dalton's eyes flew back to Parker's still form. The agent was still…mostly. Except he took to clicking his jaw every now and then, as information came to light. "It—It was Spence's job to scout her address, get her routine down as best he could…"

Click.

"…Miles Seba was Spence's partner for a time, and someone we both knew—but he owed me personally, for covering his ass during a drug bust gone wrong, since I happened to witness a certain transaction—"

Click.

"—and there's an ATF agent I met on an old case: Stevie Colfer. She was my best option for access to explosives—"

Click.

"—but not just Colfer!" Dalton rushed. He stared at McGee's pen, wishing he could tune out the sound now that he'd discerned it. "There was… There was someone in the local fire department, too. Rocco Ortega." He licked his lips. "…and her building supe? Spence built that connection, actually. But Terence St. George is no saint, and I'm sure he was hoping for additional favors of his own, in the future."

Click.

Dalton barely managed to bring to mind the actual details McGee requested after he gave up the names, so concerned was he with the menacing, foreboding motion aimed at him from barely eight feet away. Ewing stood on the other side of the door, yes, but Parker's simple action made Dalton wary that he might be attacked by this unknown factor. And, case aside, he had no clue why, especially because Parker refused to talk, to utter a single syllable or release a lone breath during this interview.

And yet there Special Agent Alden Parker stood, radiating a thinly veiled rage in the back of the room as Dalton counted off and detailed the numerous people he'd sent after Knight.

It felt like forever, sitting there, reviewing with McGee Spence's last known whereabouts, Seba's backup cell number, Colfer's preferred meeting place for taking odd jobs, Ortega's reasons for getting his hands dirty. They reviewed, McGee noted, the clock on the wall ticked the hours by—and all Dalton could think was how much he wanted to be back in his cell.

But there was something to be said for wish fulfillment. McGee clicked his pen then and stowed his notes in his inner breast pocket. "All right, I have everything," he announced, pushing his chair back to stand.

Relief flooded Dalton, enough to embolden him to remind McGee of his demand. "That's because I gave you everything, McGee. I helped. Wh-What about that cell move I want?"

At that second, Parker finally took a step toward the table, as if he'd be the one to answer.

But Dalton's hackles went up, and he shrank back in his chair, the metal feet screeching as he hastily put any extra distance between him and this man with obvious bloodlust.

McGee and Parker both made nothing of Dalton's reaction. "I'll…talk to the federal prosecutor," McGee said at last. He tipped his head at Dalton in acknowledgment—the closest thing a traitor got to thanks, Dalton supposed—and followed Parker out of the visiting room.

For the third time that late afternoon, Tom Dalton swallowed an unwelcome lump in his throat, still trying to make sense of how that interview had gone. Ewing came in to find him a bit paralyzed and reluctant to leave the chair, but Dalton was compliant by the second attempt to heave him up.

It wasn't until Dalton was halfway back to his cell that he realized the agents had left and McGee had made no verbal promise and also not left behind anything in writing regarding Dalton's side of the exchange.

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, grinding his teeth and wishing he'd spent his cigarettes more wisely. "…fuck!"

McGee double-checked that his gun and holster sat correctly on his belt as he and Parker exited the prison after their interview with Dalton. Parker didn't do the same, walking in confident, evenly paced strides ahead of him. McGee followed his boss' silhouette with his eyes and squinted. Parker seemed oddly stiff after what had been a successful venture out here.

Frankly, though, McGee knew that wasn't the first odd thing about Parker today. No, the first thing had been Parker's strange request a couple hours ago, when they'd first arrived. "You'll do all the talking once we get in there," Parker had told him.

McGee had cocked his head at him and pulled a bemused smile.

But Parker had gotten ahead of any questions or objections, saying, "I believe in you, McGee."

Which…was a nice vote of confidence, sure, but McGee was smart enough to know by now when there was something else behind a person's request. And McGee knew, too, that it wasn't only today but yesterday, as well.

Something was off about both Knight and Parker since the explosion at her apartment yesterday morning. From Knight and Parker butting heads a bit at the scene to later talking quietly amongst themselves on and off at the office…

Still, McGee had tabled his curiosities and followed through with Parker's request this afternoon. After all, the case—and Knight's safety—was their top priority. And McGee was glad they weren't walking away from Dalton empty-handed. He said as much while he and Parker traipsed back to the car, but he also tried to lift Parker's mood at the same time. McGee grinned slyly, pointing out, "With any luck, no prosecutor's going to rise to the bait. If anything, all Dalton's done is helped to add years to his time."

Parker nodded rather absentmindedly. He slowed his steps once they were by the car, and he stood beside the passenger door, in no rush to get in.

McGee squinted at him again, from across the roof.

Of the past thirty-six hours, what Parker did next had to be the strangest thing McGee witnessed yet. The older man released a low, slow breath through his nose and slipped the tie from his neck, winding the neckwear around both of his hands, and he pulled. He pulled and pulled, hard enough to blanch his knuckles and fists, hard enough to stretch the fabric taut and thin and, holy shit, was he actually tearing his necktie in two—

McGee nervously laughed. "H-Hey, uh, Parker? What… What're you doing…there?"

The interruption appeared to snap Parker out of his momentary trance. He glanced at McGee and pocketed the trashed tie. "Venting. And I really didn't want to take it out on your car, McGee."

He hadn't expected an honest answer! McGee gawped at Parker, hesitating to get in the car with him.

But whatever version of Parker had been on display seconds ago was buried deep elsewhere, because normal Parker piped up, "McGee, come on. We're still on the clock, and we've got to track Dalton's people down, otherwise Jess is going to remain a target."

Reality brought him to his senses, and McGee slid in behind the wheel. He turned the engine over and got them on the road back to NCIS, but a part of his mind was still back in that prison parking lot.

The ride back was a quiet one. McGee kept glancing at Parker, not looking for an opportunity to talk, really, but just to observe. And Parker either didn't mind or wasn't aware of the scrutiny—the latter, McGee supposed, since Parker rested an elbow inside the passenger door, cupped his cheek in his palm, and stared out the window for the entire ride, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

McGee wondered about how dark those thoughts were, and why. Parker claimed he'd vented, and yet he still seemed as taut as his damaged tie.

And, to think, McGee thought he and Torres had enough to worry about, with Knight being Dalton's target.

Daylight was disappearing on them by the time they arrived back at the Navy Yard. McGee tried not to think about how Parker hadn't spoken an extra peep during the ride back—not unlike his stony silence during the interview with Dalton—and he pushed the memory of the shredded tie down as he and Parker took the elevator upstairs at NCIS. And the tie? Really, what was that? Just a footnote, if McGee actually thought about it.

Knight's head popped up from her desk like a meerkat's when they exited the elevator. "Hey! How'd it go?" she asked.

McGee went to exchange a glance with Parker, but Parker's tired expression was reserved for Knight as they entered the bullpen. McGee instead nodded at Torres and at Ronnie and Sawyer, whose shift as part of Knight's protective detail would've started just a few minutes ago. "Well, actually, I'd say it was a major success."

Torres raised his eyebrows. "You're kidding. Vance's national security threat worked on the jerk's lawyer?"

He nodded. "Yeah, lawyer wasn't there. Dalton was ours so long as we stuck to the details of this case only."

Ronnie crossed her arms in front of her chest and shared an annoyed look with Torres. "Well, damn. If we'd known it was gonna be that easy…"

Parker leaned on the front of Knight's desk and pulled his eyes away from her to settle the others with a frown. "The director didn't make a threat," he corrected. "NCIS still had to go through legal channels, which took a ridiculous amount of time considering how quickly we figured the likelihood it was Dalton yesterday." He practically spat the word, and Knight mustered a sympathetic smile for him and patted his nearer arm.

"Hate to state the obvious, but…" Sawyer rolled on the balls of his feet and jerked his chin at their little gathering. "What's next?"

McGee pulled his memo pad out and, since Parker didn't object, gave the sitrep. It wasn't just the names Dalton had given them, either, but also a list of other tasks—notes about which fellow inmates Dalton had paid off in some form to pass along messages, a reminder to check Seba's accounts under a recurring misspelling of his surname as "Seiba," even McGee's passing idea that perhaps Dalton's lawyer might've been instrumental in this and required checking. …and, the more he recounted, the larger McGee's worries loomed.

They'd had big cases before, but this one—as quickly as they needed to get to the bottom of things—finally might be too big for just the four of them to handle.

Ronnie picked up on that, dropping her arms to her sides and offering McGee a tentative smile. "McGee. We can help with this, too." Her curls bounced when she jerked her head at Sawyer, who shrugged noncommittally. "We've got Knight's back during watch, of course, but we can help you sift through this info when our shift's over."

McGee wanted to jump on the offer. But he, Torres, and Parker had been spending as much time at NCIS with Knight and her protective details as possible, because they'd all suspected Dalton might still have connections worth using, maybe even still at NCIS.

That meant that Ronnie and Sawyer, and Finley and Dawkins, weren't off the hook, even though the MCRT felt they knew them well enough.

So McGee deferred to Parker.

Parker straightened up but didn't take long to assess the offer. "We'd appreciate that," he said a beat later, ignoring McGee's look of surprise.

When McGee glanced over his shoulder at Torres, he saw his own expression mirrored on his friend's tanned face.

Ronnie grinned, though, none the wiser. "Great! I'll actually feel useful to you—not that looking out for you isn't important," she directed at Knight.

Knight smiled and tipped her head. "Nah, I get it. I hate waiting around, too, Ronnie."

While McGee dropped his things at his desk to settle back in, Parker dragged his feet, looking to leave the bullpen again. The older man ran a hand over the back of his head as he glanced upstairs. "I guess I'll go update the director, in the meantime."

"I'll join you," Knight said, eagerly pushing out of her chair. For someone who'd nearly been blown up the other morning, she was awfully chipper at the moment.

Parker hesitated, but the tension in his body language ebbed from him the longer Knight worked that soft smile on him. He nodded, and they fell into step together as they headed for the director's office, with Ronnie and Sawyer shadowing Knight at a polite distance.

McGee stood by his desk, watching them until they faded from sight, and his curiosities from before returned in the office's quiet.

Knight and Parker… Parker and Knight.

His curiosities bubbled up, forming into something more solid. There was, of course, wonder over how much the past thirty-six (really, pulling up on forty now) hours had affected the team as a whole… And yet McGee wondered just how close Knight and Parker were.

Butting heads at the scene.

Talking closely, just the two of them, at the office.

And not just earlier, when leaving the prison—there'd been a few other times McGee must've misheard Parker, calling her "Jess" instead of "Knight," during this case.

But it wasn't just how they were acting around each other, McGee realized as it hit him, finally, why Parker's behavior in the prison parking lot had caught him by surprise. It wasn't only that McGee had been scared of that side of the man.

McGee knew he'd seen that kind of reaction before, in others.

Sure, he'd never witnessed anyone murder a necktie before, but—that rage? That was a special kind of rage, and McGee had seen it several times before, when certain people—loved ones—were in danger.

Tony, with Ziva.

Ziva, with Tony.

Bishop, with Torres.

Torres, with Bishop.

At that thought, McGee's eyes wandered over to his friend, and Torres lifted his head, quirking an eyebrow at his audience, as if asking, Who, me?

…ah, right. Torres' clueless expression helped snap McGee out of it, and McGee finally planted himself in his desk chair, determined to pry himself from this silly train of thought. And it was silly, even as his mind wandered back to when Parker and Knight had been trapped months and months ago in the parking garage explosion and he ventured that perhaps things had evolved for the two since then…

But no. No! This was Parker and Knight, after all, and McGee was overthinking about these two. Clearly he was just seeing things, hearing things that weren't there….

OMG I don't think I've ever turned an outline into a draft so fast. XD SO! As with many of my Parknights, I wrote this before the s19 finale, so who tf knows how that changes hcs, but who cares?! Esp bc I love the "20 Winks" universe too much to change course with it much, I think (I'll hafta see how much I like the canon as we head into s20, *lol*). ANYWAY. This is the missing moment I referred to in "What's Yours Is Mine, What's Mine Is Yours," bc, the more I thought about it, the more I at least wanted to show an enraged Parker reining in his temper but also show how others take in Parker and Knight without knowing about Parknight; this is, indeed, one of my fav storytelling techniques, the ship-thru-others'-eyes, which I've employed before in NCIS fic (see "Sartorially Suited"), have done once for HQ!!, and enjoy on and off for HariPo, bc it's so much fun! It was also kinda fun scaring the shit out of Dalton, who thought he had the upper hand for a hot minute, and also torturing Parker a leetle bc Dalton was practically boasting about getting revenge on Knight bc sour grapes. X'D Poor bby deffo needed Knight's smile and frankly a hug and a smooch when he and McGee returned to the office, but a protective detail makes that difficult! Also, also! The tie murder (*LOL*) felt appropriate, considering the ways Parker has expressed his rage before canonically, but the more I thought about it, the more it felt right to have McGee draw the comparison in this manner to Tiva and to Ellick. But, ofc, Timothy McGee laughs things off, bc nooo, he can't possibly be seeing Parknight with his own two eyes! Anywho. Also, Ronnie & Sawyer cameo bc yay. c: (I rly do adore the minor charries across my fandoms~) -w- Lastly: Do take the prison/lawyer stuff w/a grain of salt, even if Vance did claim national security, bc yeah no. :O So you know the drill, if you read my stuff! Check out the others in the "20 Winks" universe if you started with this one first, go read some other Parknights bc I have what feels like a million of them now XD, enjoy some art by me (on my pillowfort) as well as other content (on the parknights tumblr), feel free to request (fic or art!), and always feel welcome to come chat! Idk where this universe will go (if anywhere) next, but we'll see! I'm just so happy to write 3 Parknights in a week, *lol* (as of writing, this, "What's Yours," and "Late-Night Promises" were all written within just a couple days of each other, and another two stories were edited…luckily before I started feeling like crap again bc thanks, allergies). ;P

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

#ncis #parknight #alden parker #jessica knight #tom dalton #timothy mcgee #fanfic #mew writes too much #nick torres #ronnie tyler #dale sawyer #this is one of my fav types of story to write c:#parknight: 20 winks universe

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charliedawn · 3 years

Text

Imagine you have been kidnapped and your favorite slashers decide to come to the rescue

It has been a few days now that none of the slashers have seen or heard from you. They are growing more and more worried and nervous by the day. Finally, thanks to his connections, Five succeeds in finding out that you have been kidnapped by your "old friends".

" I feel weird..Why do I feel weird ?"

Five asks himself and takes a glass of whiskey to calm his nerves. He then looks at his wall and stares at it for a while, hesitantly.

" Am I crazy ?"

He looks back at his drink and, after a moment at looking at his reflection in the amber liquid, swallows all of it in one go.

" You know what ? F*ck it all ! I am crazy !"

He then walks towards the wall and starts tearing it apart with his bare hands to get out the object he had hidden in it. An axe.

" It was supposed to be for a special occasion..but oh well !"

He then walks outside to his neighbor's door : Brahms.

He smashes the door to pieces and Brahms immediately gets up. When he sees that it is Five, he almost groans in annoyance, but stops when he starts thinking as to why he would come to him in the middle of the night.

" Y..Y/N ?"

He asks in a hopeful tone, wondering if the short man had finally found something about her whereabouts. Five finally enters his bedroom and whisper shouts.

" Yes, you idiot ! We're going to search for them ! As the police is obviously too dumb to find them themselves !"

Brahms smiles widely behind his mask and quickly grabs his doll before following Five. However, they are walking in the corridor when they spot two very distinctive orange and red head getting out by the window. The two clowns look up to see the two others. They stay still for a moment before smirking at each other knowingly. There is always a moment where crazy people just have this connection, this moment where they don't even need words to communicate.

" Ah ! Guess what ?! One of my escape plans actually works ! Just thought we would go and save Y/N, but looks like we're not the only ones. So..How about we go search for Freddy and Myers and you go find Jason and Sir Sh*tty the clown ?"

Five nods in agreement before running towards the mute's room, while the Clown Brothers run towards Freddy's room. Once all reunited, they get out by Pennywise's exit that was, in fact, a tunnel in the garden of Freddy. (Freddy being of course aware and even helping Pennywise by pretending to garden when he digs) Five, as well as all of the killers find themselves revigorated as soon as they are out, their powers coming back to them. Penny takes a step forward and starts sniffing the air for your scent. He quickly finds and turns his head towards the rest with a wicked smile.

" Let's go find them."

A few hours later :

" Come on Sam ! I don't want to work for you anymore ! I can't keep pretending that what you're doing is right !"

You yell, wishing to reason with him, even though you were already beaten bloody. But, he doesn't listen to you and only slaps you so hard that you see stars.

" Doesn't mean that you are free, Y/N ! Me and the boys will always track you down, wherever you go ! You are a part of our team. You really thought that just by moving away, you could get away from your family ?!"

You glare up at him before spatting angrily.

" You are not my family.."

However, before he could slap you again, kids' creepy laughs fill the room. Sam gnashes his teeths and looks around with nervousness. You can't help but feel a bit apprehensive yourself.

" Well hello.."

Sam almost lets out a scream when he see one of the clowns get out of the dark. He takes a step back and nearly tumbles over a grave from which, another clown appears.

" So, what was the plan, bad boy ? Were you going to hit them hit them hit them until they forgive you before finally bashing their brains out ?!"

Pennywise asks while accompanying his words with demonstrative gestures. Sam's eyes widen and he quickly gets out a gun and starts shooting in every direction. You close your eyes, wishing for him not to shoot you in the process. He almost feels relieved when he opens one eye and sees them gone. However, when he turns towards you, he sees Jason standing protectively in front of you, a bullet that was destined to you lodged in his chest.

" Not a very wise move, my friend. Should have gone for the head. Would have taken him longer to recover.."

Sam quivers in fear as he sees a third clown get out from around a corner. He then yells with tears in his eyes and snort coming out of his nose pathetically.

" Do all your friends wear f*cking clown costumes ?! Is it your new trick to get rid of me, Y/N ?!"

He doesn't see it, but from behind Jason, you smile and reply.

" You never asked what was my job, a**h*le. I am a nurse at St Louis, and looks like my patients are hungry.."

Suddenly, Sam is turned around by Freddy that gives him a nasty grin.

" You're right about that. I'm f*ching starving."

" B..Boys !"

Sam calls for his gang that his supposed to stay on watch, but then, Freddy gets out their heads. He then show them to Sam with mocking concern.

" You're looking for these fellows ? Sorry, the clowns were a little bit hungry on our way here. Thought we would grab a takeaway first."

Freddy starts laughing histerically at his own joke, which makes Sam fall to the floor, white as a sheet.

" Come on..Come to Papa !"

Sam screams so loud that it makes you wince in pain. He then starts crawling backwards, away from Freddy that is still walking forward while laughing maniacally. However, Freddy suddenly disappears and Sam is left with his heart beating a thousand times a minute. He gets up and sprints towards the exit. He opens the door and falls face to face with Michael. Michael stands in the doorway and tilts his head a bit to side while observing the shaking man.

Sam walks backwards, away from the giant. He doesn't even have any voice to scream with anymore. He is scared beyond anything and starts running the other way. He ends up in the same room as you again and sees Five, trying to untie you. He smirks, thinking to have finally found an escape..He takes Five and puts the head of his gun against his head.

" Stay back or I'll kill the kid !"

The group stops abruptly and Sam smiles widely, thinking he won. But then, Five glares up as him and stomps on his foot with such force that Sam screams in pain again.

" Who are you calling "the kid", idiot ?"

Five gets out of his grip and all of the slashers surround him. Suddenly, Michael and Jason raise some knives they had managed to get their hands on in the kitchen and you watch before whispering :

" They always say to watch out for the quiet ones.."

And with that, the die is cast. You can only watch with a morbid fascination as each one of the slashers seem to attack Sam with such coordination. You're impressed. They seem to work so well together. Even the clowns seem to have fun along each other, whereas normally they would be at each other's throats.

When they're finished and Sam is, indeed, very dead..They all turn their heads towards you, blood splattered all over their faces. They are waiting..For what ? You wonder. Suddenly, you stand up and they all seem to try to guess your next move. But, you don't let any emotion take a hold of you and only sigh before taking out a napkin from your pocket. You look at it for a moment before kneeling in front of Brahms and starting to get the blood out of his face gently. He seems to melt into the kind gesture and closes his eyes appreciatively.

" You can't come back to St Louis in this state..It would not be good for you or for me. You need to take a bath. If you want to escape, I won't stop you. Not that I have the power to anyway.."

Of all the reactions you could have had, this one was the least the slashers had expected. They had expected fear, screams..even disgust. But here you were, washing their faces as if they hadn't just killed someone in front of you. Before anyone could stop him, Penny jumps on you and licks your face happily while you start laughing at his impulsive gesture. However, Pennywise appears behind him and drags him away from you by the collar.

" Jeez kid ! You're happy ! We get it ! That doesn't mean you have to drool all over them !"

Suddenly, Jason, Brahms and Michael look at each other in silent agreement before using their massive size to wrap their arms around all of you.

" Hey ! I never agreed to this hugging bullsh*t !"

Freddy yells in disapproval while trying to wiggle his way out. To everyone's surprise, it's Pennywise that answers him.

" Oh, stop complaining, you old dog ! You're enjoying this as much as the rest of us !"

You can hear Freddy grumbling and can imagine him crossing his arms sulkily. But, he doesn't try to deny. You bite you lip in order not to laugh. No matter how much you should hate/be scared/horrified by what they had done, you couldn't bring yourself to do so.

" Let's go home.."

They all nod in agreement and the three mutes free you. You all start walking towards St Louis. Who knows ? Maybe you are crazy too..

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #pennywise 1990 #pennywise 1990 x y/n x pennywise 2017 #brahms heelsire x reader #the joker x reader #arthur x reader #michael myers x reader #jason voorhees x reader #number five x reader

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kinglazrus · 3 years

Text

Dead Man Walking

Phic Phight | AO3 | FFN

Submitted by @syrren: Instead of making him half-dead, the portal accident makes Danny unable to die. This....changes things.

(or: how canon changes if the accident leaves Danny with deadpool-style regeneration abilities to make for a horrifyingly self-sacrificing vigilante, or with some kind of reset ability every time he dies to equally horrifying implications)

Summary: The accident changes Danny in ways he never thought possible. Sam and Tucker watch him fall from the portal dead and burnt beyond recognition, but he doesn't stay dead for long. He never stays dead. Of all the things Danny expected to happen when he walked into that portal, getting unlimited regeneration wasn't one of them, but now that he has it, he's going to put it to good use. Deadpool AU.

Word count: 3606

The first time Danny dies, his friends bear witness. They will never forget the ominous whirr of the portal as it turned on, the warning crackle of electricity, the final throat-tearing scream of their best friend. There are other things, too, that burned into their minds that day. How his body hit the floor of the lab with a thud, burnt beyond recognition, burnt so bad there wasn't any blood. How it smelled, to their horror, not so different from charred barbecue.

They like to pretend that part never happened. It's easy when all they need to do is call his phone and hear his voice, unaffected by the savage electrical heat that brought him to ruin that day. When he doesn't stay dead, it's not hard to pretend he never died at all. It took minutes for his body to fix itself, blackened skin overtaken by fresh pink muscle, which then sprouted new skin, perfectly unblemished.

Even the scar he got when he was fell off his bike at six years old disappeared.

"I liked that scar," Danny says, pouting when he finally notices its absence three days later.

"I don't think that's the right thing to get hung up," Sam says.

"But it looked like a spaceship!"

"I always thought it looked like an upside-down nine," Tucker muses.

"Or six," Sam says.

"Upside down nine is more fun."

They proceed like this for three weeks, mentioning the accident only in the lightest of terms, joking about their new, shared trauma. They are content to move on with their lives, forget it happened, go on as normal high schoolers. Until Danny dies again.

—

"What do you mean you don't want to hunt ghosts?" Jack exclaims. He gapes down at the trio, wholeheartedly baffled by this confession.

"I'll stick with tech, thanks," Tucker says, holding up his phone.

"Ghosts just aren't cool anymore," Sam says.

"Can I go back upstairs now?" Danny asks. At his question, Sam and Tucker fall silent. None of them make eye contact, and neither do they look toward the portal innocently humming only a few feet away. Danny is very aware that this is his first time in the lab since the accident. The same thought runs through Sam and Tucker's minds.

Jack doesn't notice the sudden change in mood. "Nonsense, Danno! You love ghosts. Why, I remember when you were just a tyke, you wanted to be a ghost when you grew up." He clenches his fist. "It was unacceptable. But that's okay! You can hunt them instead!"

He turns his back on Danny and his friends, eagerly going over the array of tools laid out on the counter. Ghost detectors, ecto-guns, protective shield, and an empty space where a thermos should be. "I forgot the best part! Wait right here, kids." Jack charges upstairs, leaving the kids alone.

Danny glances at the portal, unable to suppress a shiver. "You think he'd notice if I snuck away?"

"Nuh-uh, if you go, we go, too," Tucker says.

No one gets to go. Two sets of slimy green tentacles poke through the portal, probing the empty air. Their soft bodies soon follow, revealing a pair of ghostly octopuses.

"Holy shit ghosts are real." That is all Tucker has time to say before the ghosts attack. They launch themselves forward, shrieking in excitement. One goes for Sam and the other charges Tucker. They try to jump out of the way, but the ghosts are faster. The ectopuses tentacles wrap around them, pinning their arms down.

"Danny!" Sam shouts.

In retrospect, a smarter person would have gone for the ecto-gun lying on the table, freshly loaded and ready for a demonstration. Or, they might have shouted for his father, a ghost hunter who has trained his entire life for this scenario. But Danny acts faster than he thinks. He dives toward Tucker, the closest of the two, and digs his fingers into the ghost's tentacles. It screams as Danny's nails dig into its flesh.

The ghost's body goes translucent. Tucker slips out of its grasp, dropping to the floor in a heap, but Danny's hold stays firm. The ectopus panics, thrashing and tugging, its flailing limbs cutting through Tucker over and over without harming him. No matter what the ectopus does, it can't shake Danny loose, and his nails are starting to cut.

"Dude, you're doing it!" Tucker says, too soon.

As it flails, one of the ectopus' tentacles smacks Danny in the face, making his head snap back. At that moment, he and the ghost have the same realization. If he can touch it, it can hurt him back. The ectopus gives another shriek and its remaining seven tentacles surge forward. They wrap around Danny's arms, his chest, curling so tight his bones ache. The last one closes around Danny's throat.

His throat, weak like the ghost's flesh, crumples in an instant. His air disappears. No sound leaves his mouth, not even a wheeze, and his eyes bulge as panic sets in.

"Danny!" Sam and Tucker scream. Sam struggles against her captor kicking and gnashing her teeth, but her boots can't reach its body. Tucker grabs Danny, tries to pull him away, to bat off the ghost’s grip, but it is no use. The ghost is too strong, and Tucker can't touch it in this state.

Danny loses focus of them, then. His brain goes fuzzy, everything blurring around him while his face grows hot. All he can feel is the burn, the ache, the need to breathe, breathe, breathe damn it! The haze of the ghost looming over him fills his vision, slowly overtaken by red, then black spots.

As everything goes dark, Danny's last thought is this:

I guess I'm dead after all.

—

He hears the sobbing first. It starts off quiet and distant, but quickly grows louder, great hiccupping coughs scattered between heart-wrenching cries.

"Mr. Fenton!" someone screams. It happens fast, after that. Thundering steps, a deep cry of shock and pain that cuts him to his core. A piercing whine followed by two quick blasts.

The ectopuses' retreating shriek cuts through Danny loud and clear. His eyes snap open and air rushes into his lungs, a hoarse, wheezing breath that he holds for a moment. Then he takes another, and another, and he's breathing again, and he's not anymore.

Sam and Tucker, kneeling at his side, cry out as one. They throw themselves on him, blubbering messes the both of them. Danny's father, facing the portal, turns disbelieving eyes on him.

Danny's gaze drops to his father's hand and the ecto-gun clutched in it. "Oh, right." The word scrapes against his throat. He swallows, twice, until speaking doesn't hurt and says, "I forgot we had the gun.

"Danny!" Jack dashes toward them, dropping to his knees beside Danny. Sam and Tucker scramble back, giving him room. "Are you alright? What happened? You looked..."

Dead.

Because he was. Again.

"I'm fine," Danny assures him. "Lost consciousness, that's all.

"Danny, your face was blu—" Tucker yelps when Sam punches him in the shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. He rubs the spot, shooting her an offended look, but Sam's eyes are only on Danny.

Danny nods, just enough that she can see, a silent thanks.

"I think you kids should go upstairs now." Jack's voice trembles. He raises his hand, about to run it through his hair, but stops when he sees the gun he's still holding. "I'll take care of things down here. Call your parents and all that."

For the first time, Danny notices the green splotches littering the floor and the wall. Probably from the ectopuses.

Sam loops an arm around Danny's shoulders, hoisting him up. He stumbles when he gets to his feet, bracing himself against her as the room spins. It settles after a few seconds, but he still feels a bit lightheaded. A side effect of choking, maybe?

Tucker helps from Danny's other side. They go up to Danny's room in silence, their steps thumping up the stairs. Only once they're safely behind his closed door, and Danny is lying on the bed, does Sam speak.

"You died again," she says.

Danny touches his throat. "Yeah." Pressing gently, he feels is no lingering pain. Just like before, he healed without a trace. "Can I just not die now?"

"More like you can't stay dead," Tucker says.

"Tucker!" Sam hisses.

"What? It's true! Sorry that I'm not handling seeing my friend die twice very well!"

"Be quiet!"

Danny cuts in before they can devolve into shouting. "Let's just leave it at two, okay?"

Sam and Tucker share a glance over Danny's prone form and nod. The weight of that action is lost on Danny, whose only thought is that he wants to sleep for a very long time.

—

The knives don't kill him. They hurt like hell, but they don't kill him. He sees them flying toward him and leaps out of the way. Something strikes him in the gut, a solid punch that blows the air from his lungs and knocks him back into the walls. He thinks one of the frozen steaks got him, but when he looks down, he sees the handle of a kitchen knife sticking out of his stomach.

He stares at it, stunned, not feeling anything at first. Then, his body jolts, like a shock of electricity is running through him, and his nerves scream, heat building, until every little twitch sends a jolt of pain so deep coursing through him that he can hardly breathe.

"Danny, look out!" Tucker, or Sam, he can't tell which, so lost in his pain, cry out a warning. Danny doesn't move in time and two more knives bury themselves in his body, another in his stomach, and the other through his chest. The Lunch Lady cackles with glee as Danny gurgles. The last knife got his lung, and he can feel it slowly filling.

The pound of Sam's boots on the tiles reaches his ears. She shouts something, but he doesn't hear it. Trembling, Danny grips the handle of the knife in his lungs. In first-aid, they tell you to leave whatever object stabbing you in. It keeps the wound plugged, stops you from bleeding out. But Danny's instincts cry out against everything he was ever taught.

Take them out! Take them out!

He braces himself, then yanks. It hurts so much worse coming out, now that he's aware of the pain, the sharp edge searing as it rips the wound wider. He drops the knife and goes for the next one. All three fall to the floor beside him with a clatter, their blades shiny and red. Danny can't breathe, can barely think through the pain. He presses a hand against his chest, feeling the wound beneath his shirt.

It stitches itself together beneath his fingers. The searing pain retreats, replaced by a dull ache. By the time Sam reaches him and rips his shirt open to see his wound, his chest is healed.

"Technically, I didn't die," Danny croaks.

Sam sobs, covering her mouth with her hand. There's relief in her eyes, beneath the horror, and she makes a noise that might be a laugh, choked and garbled as it is.

Danny dives back into the fight with renewed vigour. Twenty minutes and one Fenton Thermos later, the ghost is gone, but not before half the student body saw some bloody idiot fighting it bare-handed.

"Did you see who it was?" Dash whispers to his friends.

Danny, clean of blood and wearing his gym t-shirt, slumps against the wall nearby, listening. Someone called the police when meat started flying through the hallways, and they apparently called Danny's parents. Ghosts are real and everyone knows it now, but Danny doesn't care about that at the moment.

"No, man. I wasn't close enough," Kwan answers Dash.

"Whoever that was, he totally just saved us all," Paulina says. She clasps her hands together and leans against Star. "He's such a hero."

Hero. The word resonates with Danny. He can't explain it, but it pulls at him. A hero. The school is in chaos, the yard covered in raw meat, the hallways hacked and slashed, but everyone is safe and unharmed thanks to Danny.

"More like a dumbass," Sam mutters from Danny's left.

"Semantics," Tucker says.

Between them, Danny only grins.

—

Jack paces in front of the portal, a tub of fudge cradled in the crook of his arm. Every few steps, he grabs a square and pops it in his mouth, chewing furiously. Between bites, he mutters.

"I'm telling you, Mads. He must have been some kind of ghost," he says.

"I don't know, Jack." Maddie, staring at the computer screen, tilts her head. They managed to grab a few stills from the school's security footage of the figure who fought off the ghost, but they didn't come out right. The surroundings are a little grainy, but no more than a standard security camera, so they know there's nothing wrong with the film itself. The ghost, who called herself the Lunch Lady if Maddie remembers correctly, is little more than a green haze in the image. They expected this. Ghosts don't interact with most technology well, not unless it is designed to interact with them.

But the smaller figure is distorted, a twisted shadow obscuring their form. Not ghostly, but not human either.

She clicks to the next image, getting the same results.

"Are you saying it's a human?" Jack asks without breaking stride.

"It's humanoid, but I don't think it's human, either. Yet it bled, so it's not a ghost. And look at this." She closes the files, revealing a folder full of pictures, all of them taken over the past couple of weeks as ghost sightings increased. "They show up at most fights and leave lots of bodily fluids behind." Jiggling the mouse, she circles a series of four images with the courser, all pictures of significant blood splatters. "But the samples..."

As one, she and Jack turn to the sample tray sitting on the far counter. Where the blood is deep red in the pictures, the samples they took have slowly turned to a dark, murky brown, like thick mud. The oldest sample from the first sighting is black.

Jack grabs a handful of fudge and shoves it in his mouth. "Not to mention," he speaks around the chewy squares, "what does it do with the ghosts?"

The lab door squeaks as it opens. Maddie and Jack fall silent, gazes turning toward the stairs. A pair of red sneakers appears on the top step, creeping down, until the wearer slowly reveals themself. Their son, Danny, with what looks like a thermos clutched in his hand.

"Sweetie, are you only just getting home?" Maddie asks.

Danny yelps in surprise. He jerks the thermos behind his back and swivels to face his parents, freezing on the step. "Oh, hey. I didn't think you guys would be here..."

Maddie narrows her eyes. "What did you do, young man? You were supposed to be home from school an hour ago."

"Nothing! I just got held up." Danny tugs the collar of his jacket.

That's odd. Maddie doesn't remember him leaving with a jacket this morning. The sleeves drape over his hands, down to his knuckles, and he has the collar turned up to cover his neck. It must be cold outside, even though September is only just ending. "What held you up?"

"Uh, that's kind of why I thought you guys wouldn't be here? There was another ghost fight. It got pretty bad." He shifts, pressing his arm against his side. Is his jacket darker there, against his ribs?

"Another ghost?" Jack exclaims. He slaps the fudge down on the closest surface, rattling the test tube samples. "Mads, we gotta go! There might still be some evidence!"

Maddie's eyes widen. "Oh, shoot. You're right! We need fresh samples." They race to grab their equipment, snatching up sample gathering packs from their desks, and charge up the stairs.

Danny presses himself against the wall, offering them a nervous smile as they go. "Stay safe!" he calls. The front door slams as Maddie and Jack make their exit, leaving the house in silence. Still, Danny doesn't relax until he hears the rev of the Fenton RV and the familiar squeal of its tires against the pavement. His shoulders slump and he breathes a sigh of relief.

"That was close." Taking his hand out from behind his back, he looks down at the Fenton Thermos. "Now let's get you taken care of."

As he empties the thermos back into the Ghost Zone, his gaze wanders to the computer screen, still open to the photo evidence. Danny reads the title of the folder. "Challenger?" He snorts. "That's lame." As he skims the photos, a couple jump out at him. In most, he can barely make out the shape of his own body—something he tries not to think about—but in one or two, he can recognize the colours of his clothes beneath the distorting shadow.

Danny slaps the cap back onto the empty thermos before moving closer to the computer, frowning at the screen. "That might be a problem."

—

Danny stands in front of his friends, fists resting on his hips, and shows off his new look. "Well? What do you think?"

Tucker looks him up and down, body shaking as he suppresses his laughter. "Is that a paper superhero mask? Did you spray paint your hair white?"

Danny's hands rise to his head. "It's a spray-on dye! I thought it was cool!"

"Ten bucks says it's super crispy."

"Don't be mean," Sam admonishes Tucker. "I think he looks pretty good. For a discount Jack Frost."

Tucker snaps his fingers. "Emo Jack Frost! The real one would never wear this much black."

"We are no longer friends," Danny says, turning away from them.

"Come on, don’t be a spoilsport."

"Nope, too late. I'm already dead to you."

Sam and Tucker share a confused glance. "Don't you mean we're dead to—" Before Sam can finish the sentence, Danny turns and throws himself out his bedroom window. "Danny!" They scramble after him, falling against the sill as they lean outside, peering down to the alley below.

Danny lies face-first on the pavement.

"Are you dead?" Tucker asks.

Danny raises his arm and gives them a thumbs up.

—

Valerie holds back a startled shout when the metal suit crashes onto the sidewalk next to her. She is not scared, but anyone would be surprised if two tons of metal suddenly fell from the sky. A scream, rapidly increasing in volume, drawings her gaze upwards just in time for a black-clad figure to plummet inches from her nose and land with a sharp crack on top of the suit.

This time Valerie cries out because holy shit, is he dead? Her panic sputters out when she peeks at the possible corpse and gets a good look at exactly who, or what, came falling after. A human figure dressed in all black with poorly coloured hair. It looks crispy as hell.

Valerie sneers. What kind of cheap dye did they use?

She recognizes the Challenger on sight. By now, more than half of Amity Park can, although Valerie can't account for the sudden style change. Maybe they realized how lame their regular t-shirt and jeans are and decided to switch things up. This isn't much better, though. Black hoodie, black pants, black boots, no style.

No one knows their name, but the moniker the Fentons gave them seems to have stuck. Valerie thinks it's a little on the nose, though.

Something wriggles in the corner of her eye and she looks to the Challenger's fist. It clutches a bright green blob, with stubby limbs and a wide mouth.

"Let go of me!" The blob beats its penny-sized fists against the Challenger's thumb. "You are my prey!"

The Challenger groans. "Can you shut up for a second? I think my neck broke." They squeeze the blob until it squeaks.

"Hey. Watch where you're throwing this stuff around." Valerie kicks the arm of the metal suit. "You nearly crushed me!"

The Challenger jolts. Their head whips up, accompanied by a loud crack, and they lurch to their feet. A mask covers their eyes—cheap like the hair dye, probably from a costume stored—but judging by the way their eyebrows shoot up, they look at Valerie with wide eyes.

"Uh, hey, Va—citizen." Their voice drops a solid octave. "Sorry about that! I'll watch out next time." They are about to say something else when a loud squeal interrupts up, the signature sound of the Fentons' approach. The Challenger pales. "Sorry, gotta go!"

They dash into the nearest alley before Valerie can get another word in, leaving her with the empty metal husk and the sound of the Fentons from two streets away. She gapes after them, unsure what to make of the brief exchange.

"Actually, wait a second." The Challenger pops back around the corner, leaping over the ghost's suit to reach Valerie. They grab her shoulders in a cold grip. "Are people really using that dumb name for me?"

At a loss for words, Valerie nods.

"Ugh." The Challenger groans and lets her go in favour of rubbing a hand down their face. "Stop that. It's so boring. Just call me... Phantom. Okay? See ya!" They spin away, too fast, and trip over the metal suit.

Wow, Valerie thinks as Phantom scrambles around the corner once more. We have the lamest superhero ever.

#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #phanfic #phicc #dp fanfiction #danny phantom #danny fenton #deadpool au #danny phantom fanfiction #humour #tumblroneshot

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chiliiscereal · 3 years

Note

maybe dad daryl where oc is really young and when they are on the road gets sick or maybe the prison sickness and is really clingy to daryl?? idk i’m trying to think of more ideas of the dad daryl trope for you to get inspiration from!🥰

This is my first official request so here we go!!

Thanks so much for requesting! I’ll be sure to do my best!

—————

A broken world is no place for a ten year old. Especially when the people of that world are more dangerous than the monsters that roam the forests.

One might say it was a miracle you were found by the group you had now. Daryl had snatched you from the road before your freshly turned parents could bite you. You thought they were just sick, but then the car they’d been driving crashed when your mother sunk her teeth into your fathers arm. She had only been taking a nap to recover from her fever and then she woke up.

——-

“Dad, please!” You backed away backwards from the wreckage on your hands and knees.

Your father continued crawling toward you with outstretched hands and gnashing teeth. Both of you were covered in gashes and blood.

You tried batting him away but he wouldn’t listen to you. What was wrong with him?

“Hey, girl!” A voice shouted from behind you. Arms grabbed you around your middle and pulled you away.

“Let me go” you screamed. “My dad needs my help!” You looked up at the man holding you with tears in your eyes, trying to get him to release you.

“Ya can’t help yer dad. He’s dead.” The man stated.

“But he’s moving!” You pointed around your fathers body, still crawling for the the two of you.

The man pulled out his crossbow and held you close with one arm, shooting your dad through the forehead. “He’s dead.” He informed you.

You couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t talk.

Couldn’t breathe.

“C’mon.” He grabbed your arm and guided you to his truck. “Got a group. It’s safe an’ there’s other kids.”

You say in his truck, still shaking. “Promise?”

He climbed into the drivers seat and turned it on. “Yeah, whatever, I promise.”

You held out your pinkie. “Pinkie promise?”

He narrowed his eyes, eventually rolling them. “Sure, fine, i pinkie promise.” He got it over with quickly. He almost felt childish doing it.

But it was just what you needed to convince yourself it was safe.

——-

It took a while to get used to your new people. They were friendly... for the most part. The man who scooped you up from the road wasn’t the nicest but he was better than his brother. Neither one of them seemed to keen on getting to know you better. The youngest one had simply placed you in his truck and shoved you off to the rest of the adults.

You didn’t mind though. There were other kids, there was food, and there was safety. That was enough for you. You settled into a tent with Lori and her son after a while. You were there when Carl found his dad again, and you were there when Daryl found he no longer had his brother.

Despite all the loss everyone still found a way to have some form of normality.

But then the Atlanta Camp was over run.

That day you thought would be your last. A walker had managed to trip you up and you landed in the forest floor, backing away. It’s pale bony fingers were on your ankles when an arrow had pierced its forehead before it could bite you.

That was the day you decided you could trust Daryl. No one else understood it, but they didn’t need to.

He’d saved your life twice. He had kept you close that night, downing any walker that came your way.

He tried giving you back to Lori but you didn’t trust Lori to keep you safe. Shane has tried to convince you to leave Daryl’s side but you refused.

So everyone rolled with it. It wasn’t harming anybody after all. You were safe and that’s all that mattered.

———-

“I ain’t gonna keep ya safe.” He rolled his eyes as he drove his truck for the CDC. He gave you a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Sure ya don’t wanna sit in the car with Lori or somethin’?”

You shook your head, kicking your legs happily. “I’m fine right here.” You watched the trees pass by with content.

Daryl gripped the steering wheel a bit harder. “I ain’t gonna entertain ya or some shit. I ain’t a babysitter and ya aren’t my responsibility.”

“I know.” You nodded. “It’s fine though. You’re still trustworthy to me.”

The hunter just grunted in response, to not exactly agreeing but not disagreeing either.

———

Daryl was dead set on proving that he wasn’t trustworthy at all. He tried ignoring you, he tried walking away while you talked to him at the farm, and he tried telling you to leave him alone.

But you followed him around anyway. You could be pretty fast when you wanted to be. You just walked after him and continued telling him about what you did that day.

Daryl finally had enough when you tried to hold his hand while walking after him.

——

You placed your hand in his casually. You hadn’t thought much of it because you did it often with your dad. Your dad protected you like Daryl did. He treated you like Daryl did. He made sure you were fed like Daryl did. Why would it be a bad thing?

Daryl tensed and shoved your hand away immediately. “Don’t do that shit.” He ordered.

“Why not?” You questioned as you took his hand again.

“I ain’t yer dad, alright?!” He snapped, ripping his hand away. “Damn it, just stop followin’ me!” He stormed off before you could even react.

—-

You hadn’t meant to crowd him. You just wanted him to know you appreciated him. So you respected his rather loud opinion and stayed away.

Even when the farm fell, you were away from him.

You made your way to the highway by yourself. You’d walked all night and managed to catch them before they left.

Daryl felt guilty but his pride was too strong for him to do anything about it. Dixon’s don’t apologize and they sure as hell don’t have to feel bad for anything they do.

Your group had wandered for what felt like eons.

Daryl, as some form of apology, took to teaching you how to survive. You went along with it but you’d lost some form of... excitement.

You weren’t allowed to need Daryl. You had to be able to survive without needing anyone. So you learned as much as you could. But there was no more bubbly chatter. No more trying to hold his hand for comfort.

The man didn’t know why but he missed it.

The days grew colder and with most cold weather, comes sickness. Of course it chose the smallest and weakest person in the group:

You.

You’d never really had a good immune system. If there was some cold going around then you were sure to catch it.

And catch it you did.

It started off small: a little cough here, a sneeze there...

Then it started to build up.

Soon your legs were aching.

Your lungs felt like they were trying to breathe in heavy smoke.

All you wanted to sleep but sleep was impossible! You kept rolling over and you absolutely could NOT get comfortable.

A headache wormed its way into your skull as well.

Your first thought was to tell Daryl. But you couldn’t. He’d tell you that you were slowing everyone down. That they couldn’t waste supplies on you. That you were too much responsibility.

This time you just had to get over this sickness on your own. Nobody ever needed to know.

You nearly caved when blood began to come out with the coughing. Seeing that crimson liquid stain the small cloth you’d been using nearly drove you to your knees.

——-

“You alright, kid?” Daryl asked as the group trudged forward through snow.

“Fine.” You muttered and stuffed the cloth in your pocket before he could see anything. “I’m just fine.”

You acted like you couldn’t see him narrowing his eyes at you. He must have seen by now how much slower you’d gotten. He must have seen that you no longer had an appetite. Right? He was choosing not to say anything so you’d get over it alone. He had to be.

“Ya look like shit kid.” He tried again.

You edged away from him a bit, wrapping your arms around yourself to preserve any heat. “Wow thanks.”

“Ya know that’s not what I meant.” He touched your small shoulder gently only for you to jerk away.

“Why the hell won’t you just leave me alone.” You growled and walked to catch up with the rest of your group.

———

You managed to keep up your charade for another week before someone seemed to catch on.

Glenn had noticed your excessive coughing and brought it up to everyone while they’d eaten in the newest house.

——-

“Are you feeling alright?” Glenn asked softly. “You’ve been coughing an awful lot.”

“I’m fine.” You told him.

“Sure you’re not getting sick?”

“I’m sure I’m not.”

You’d dismissed him quickly and moved on.

You thought you’d managed to keep it secret for another day. But your coughing became too much.

———

Everyone was walking outside the next day and you were trailing behind. Your throat was burning and you couldn’t stop yourself from coughing into the rag again. You thought you’d straighten up and keep walking.

But you didn’t.

The coughing didn’t stop.

You doubled over and blood kept coming.

“Hey, kid!” Daryl shouted, dropping his stuff and running over to you.

“I’m fine.” You tried to say. “I’m... im okay...”

You were on the ground, feeling like you were going to catch on fire.

“Let me see that rag.”

You tried to hid it again but you couldn’t stop Daryl from taking it.

“Damn it!”

You couldn’t even stand up. Black dots were taking over your vision.

The last thing you remembered was Daryl’s arms scooping you up.

————

“Why the hell didn’t she tell anyone!”

“Must not have felt comfortable.”

“But she needed help!”

“Well you did snap at her and tell her to leave you alone...”

“Shit, I know! I gotta go. Ya said we need medicine for fever and coughing?”

“Yes, and blankets if you find any.”

You blacked out again, only to wake up to a different voice.

“C’mon, ya gotta wake up.” A scratchy voice ordered softly as a hand shook you.

“Please no.” You begged and rolled over. Shivers over took your body. “I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep.”

You didn’t still didn’t want to bother him.

“Ya gotta eat, kid.” He asked, placing his hands in your back so you’d sit up. “Damn, yer cold as ice.”

You peeled open an eye and watched him reach behind him to grab a blanket, layering it over you.

“I don’t need it.” You protested. “I can get over this.”

“I ain’t gonna listen to that shit, got it?” He barked. “I know I shouldn’t ‘a pushed ya like that. I shouldn’t ‘a told ya ta leave me alone. But ya gotta keep yerself alive alright?”

Tears spilled down your face as you pulled the blanket closer. “I’m sorry! I didn’t... I didn’t want this to happen!” You broke into a coughing fit and covered your mouth with the rag. “I didn’t mean to slow us down or,” another cough, “or waste supplies!” You leaned into the man tiredly.

“It ain’t yer fault.” He hesitated in wrapping his arms around you. “M’sorry I let it go this far.” He rubbed your back comfortingly in circles. “Lets get ya warmed up, alright?”

You nodded, still feeling extremely weak. “Can I just sit here?” You asked guiltily. “I don’t want to move.”

“Fine. Just for a little bit.”

You wrapped your arms around him and curled up by his side, soaking in all the warmth.

————

“I gotta go find some medicine.” He told you as he got ready to leave the house everyone was camped out at. “Can’t ya handle bein’ here without me fer a little while?”

You sniffed and pulled the blanket closer. “Okay. I can do that.”

“Be back soon, alright?” He patted your shoulder and went out the door.

——

You slept as much as you could, waiting for him to return. Glenn has forced you to eat but everything felt like it burned your throat.

Everything hurt.

All you wanted was comfort.

For everything to feel better.

You waited for hours for Daryl to come back.

You just wanted the closest thing to a dad you had.

“She’s getting worse.” Lori commented softly. “We need that medicine or else I don’t know how much longer she’s gonna hang on.”

“She might not make it if Daryl doesn’t get back before nightfall.” Hershel said regretfully.

“He should have been back an hour ago! We’ll be lucky if he gets here before she passes out again.”

“No, we’re lucky no one else has caught this. We need this thing stamped out soon or it’s the end for all of us.”

You curled against Glenn’s side, shuddering slightly. “Is he back yet?”

He patted your back softly. “Sorry, kiddo, he’s not.”

You nodded to yourself, and waited a little bit. “If he back yet?”

“You asked that already. Sorry but he isn’t here.”

“Oh.”

—————

“We have to think about what’s best for her.” Rick told everyone in the other room. “If he ain’t back soon, we’ll have to prepare for the worst. Maybe let ‘er enjoy one last meal. Spend time with her.”

“He’s gotta be back soon.” Carol whispered. “He has to be.”

“It’s harder to find medicine now a days.” Hershel told her. “I’m sorry, but the chances of finding medicine is very unlikely.”

You could hear them discussing everything from the other room. You weren’t supposed to but you could.

“Let’s wait.” Lori begged. “Just for a little bit longer.”

“I don’t think-.”

The door opened. “I got the medicine. Where’s the kid?”

You pulled yourself up from the floor and walked into the room. “Daryl?” You called.

“Shit kid.” He dropped his crossbow and ran over. “Why the hell are ya up?”

You glanced tiredly at all the people in the group. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Damn it i thought I told you to stay put.” He began chewing you out but stopped when you sleepily wrapped your arms around him. “Fine. Whatever. Just... come on. Ya gotta take this medicine an’ get better.”

———-

It took you almost a full week to recover but you did.

Whatever it was, it must have done something to your lungs. You couldn’t run without feeling winded.

But you had Daryl at your side the whole time.

He made sure you were always one of the first ones ready to leave when a house was no longer safe.

Never again did he snap at you or leave you unattended.

You may have lost your father when the walkers took the earth, but you somehow managed to gain one anyway.

#for you #bookish #wattpad #fanfic #twd fanfiction #twd incorrect quotes #incorrect twd quotes #twd daryl #twd imagine #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon x reader #fanfiction requests

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modern-inheritance · 3 years

Text

Modern Inheritance: Father and Son (Ask Fill)

Anonymous asked: When does Eragon discover that Brom’s his father?

“He said that Morzan is my father.”

The silence that filled the tent made Eragon’s chest ache more than any of the injuries that now littered his body. Saphira reached out to him, trying to comfort the hurt, but he recoiled. This was his burden to carry, and he’d carry it alone.

Nasuada stared with her lips parted, hanging on the edge of saying something but seeming unable to decide what would be the best response.

Roran’s face was frozen in shock, but a familiar flush was creeping up his neck that signaled he was about to explode to Eragon’s defense like he would when they were children and the other kids mocked his lack of parentage.

For once, Eragon just wanted his cousin to stay quiet as he turned his gaze to Arya, trying to gauge her reaction. He didn’t know what he wanted to see. Disgust? Pity? Sympathy?

Her eyes were wide and a mix of gobsmacked surprise and…was that apprehension?…colored her expression.

But Arya wasn’t looking at him.

The elf was looking at Brom.

And the tent exploded into noise once again.

“HE SAID WHAT?!”

Eragon staggered as Brom rushed him, a wild light in his eyes as he shoved Roran aside and seized the young Rider by his upper arms. “You believed him?!” He could feel the man’s muscles trembling with rage even as he shook Eragon roughly. “How could a monster like Morzan spawn a man like you?!”

Out the corner of his eye Eragon saw Roran already regaining his feet as Arya vaulted clear across the staging table to get to his side. The elf was millimeters away from yanking the enraged Rider off when Brom suddenly stopped shaking the young man and locked eyes with him.

“You’re MY son, dammit!”

Eragon’s hammering heart juddered to a stop.

“You’ve always been my son.”

Brom’s chest heaved as Arya pulled him away from the shellshocked Eragon. She was watching him now, looking for any hint as to how the younger Rider wanted to proceed. She released her grip on Brom and stepped back when Eragon gave her a shaky nod before turning to Nasuada.

Eragon bowed. He hoped that the stiffness of his stance hid the trembling of his limbs.

“If you’ll excuse us for a moment.”

With that he grabbed Brom by the shoulder of his armored coat and dragged him out of the tent, leaving a stumbled trail of burnt and broken soil crust in their wake.

Eragon didn’t stop until he, Brom and Saphira were far enough from the command tent to cast deafening wards on their conversation. The moment they were in place the younger man rounded on the elder.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Brom flinched. There was so much emotion in Eragon’s voice, a terrible mix of anger and betrayal that nearly masked the undercurrent of confusion and hurt. The sound made him want to throw his arms around the boy. He held back, knowing that right now, Eragon wasn’t ready. He wanted answers, and Brom would do his best to give them.

So he took a deep breath. “I couldn’t. If word reached the wrong ears that you were my son it would have put you in so much danger. I wanted you to grow up with a family that could give you a normal life, not force you to live every day in fear that the King would one day discover us.” Unable to stop himself, Brom reached out to put his hands on the furious young man’s shoulders. “Eragon, I wanted to protect you–”

Eragon gnashed his teeth and shoved Brom’s hands away. “But that was THEN! Did you ever stop to think maybe, once we all were already running from Galbatorix, to tell me who you were? The whole time we traveled, you never ONCE gave us an inkling–”

‘He told me, Little One.’ Saphira lowered her head to her partner. Eragon stared at her with shock. ‘I’m sorry. I wanted so badly to tell you, but before he told me anything Brom made me swear oaths to keep it secret unless absolutely necessary.’ She brushed her snout against his arm. ‘I’m sorry.’

Saphira could feel him wrestling with the revelation, the twinges of betrayal and questions of who he could trust if not her to share everything. Her own regret and shame at being locked in her promise seeped across their link, and with a pang of guilt Eragon’s thoughts came to clarity. She had wanted to tell him, and would have if she could. She was not to blame for this.

“That was wrong of me.” Brom bowed his head. “I shouldn’t have burdened you with this, Saphira, especially under such oaths. I…I wanted at least someone to be able to tell Eragon if I–” He stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t–” Eragon cut himself off, the cauldron of emotions inside him boiling over. All his life, he wondered who his father was. He loved his family, Garrow, Roran, Marian, but there was something inside that he always craved. And now, to know he had been denied it when it was right there, so close to him this whole time….

He exploded.

“Even in Ellesméra, probably the safest place in all Alagaësia, you didn’t tell me!” Eragon jabbed a finger into Brom’s chest, nearly staggering the older man with his new strength. “I can’t believe you! Tell me, if Murtagh hadn’t assumed I was Morzan’s blood too, were you ever going to claim me as your son?! What, were you too ashamed of me while Durza’s scar made me an in–”

And suddenly arms were around him, squeezing tight. The familiar scent of sweet tobacco smoke, warm canvas, leather and sandalwood washed through Eragon’s senses. It evoked memories of their travels, of the nights spent at the campfire learning magic and swordplay.

But even deeper still, lost in the reaches of his oldest memories, the feeling of Brom’s arms around him recalled the days spent in the storyteller’s tiny home while Garrow and Marian worked the fields. His patience with Eragon’s neverending questions. How, without him knowing it, Brom made sure his son was fed, sparked his interest in the world around him, did his best to guide him on difficult choices. How the old man always made sure his door was open to him, for advice, stories, or simply someone to sit with in troubled times.

He realized, then, that Brom was shaking as he tightened his grip on his son. Hot tears splashed on the shoulders of his armor, beading up on the aramid polymer.

“Stars above, I’ve never been ashamed of you.” Brom shuddered in a gasp, then let words pent up for years pour out of him. “You’ve always been my son, Eragon. I was so afraid that…that I would lose you too. I don’t know a thing about being a father, and after all that I’ve done and all I lost I just…I couldn’t. I couldn’t let that touch you.

“I wanted more than anything to tell you. I was just too damn scared. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I can do to make up for the past, but–”

Brom froze.

Eragon settled his arms around his father, and hugged him back.

He could feel his own throat tightening as he spoke, voice free from the conflict that it was filled with before. “You dummy.” Eragon felt Brom break out into fresh tears of relief as he added, “You realize you’re everything I wanted in a dad, right?”

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saladejin · 4 years

Text

Lost & Found | Jimin (M)

Jimin x Fem!Reader | s2f2l au, (ex)-policeman!Jimin, vetnurse!Reader | fluff, meet-cute, (emphasis on) hurt/comfort, angst and heavy angst, found families, slight humour, mentions of other members

Summary: You’ve essentially spent your whole life working around dogs, through sickness and through health, but one memorable encounter at the park has you thinking ‘why not one more?’

Or, maybe it’s not the dog that needs help, but rather the beautiful yet reserved man with honey blonde hair at his side. Perhaps, rather than dogs and cats, you need to start learning how to heal people. Maybe then you can start to heal yourself too.

Warnings: tw // (mental health, descriptions of death - no major, descriptions of abandonment - not by main characters, absent parents) // Descriptions of traumatic experiences, mental health issues/struggles (depression, anxiety), minor character death, hurt/comfort, mental breakdowns / resolved breakdowns. Only the tiniest, vaguest references to suicide - basically nothing.

- semi non-descriptive smut, fooling around in the pool, kissing, touching, fucking ... plenty of cussing lol

Word Count: 18.6k (hahahha kill me)

A/N: Okay so here is my entry for the Ghostie Network’s ‘Dynamite Dads’ event, and it’s a bit late oops! I wasn’t really feeling up to write Jimin as a dad with an actual human baby, but I did the next best thing and gave him a gorgeous pupper who he basically treats as his own child ... enjoy :)

The genre was FLUFF, and my trope was ‘found family’. I promise you there is definitely some fluff to pay off for the angst. I feel ok saying it’s nothing too extreme, 🥺 but please heed the warnings and don’t hate me too much for the pain hehe

There will be a sequel, so this will most likely end up being a two-shot. You’ll see what I mean :)

<< masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Jimin knows from the very moment he opens his eyes to the sound of 6 a.m. birdsong, that today would be it. His last day.

He drags himself from bed, all fluffed up hair and puffy eyes, shrugging on the same dark navy uniform he’s worn for the past five years. He blinks away the sleep clutching at his eyelids, trying his best to prevent the flashing colours behind them from focusing into memories.

Perhaps they were a lingering dream, flooded with the distant sounds of wailing sirens and a snarling canine, but thankfully they vanish with one brisk shake of his head.

Snarling swiftly changes into a gentle whine, and Jimin raises his head with a troubled sigh to see Mandu sniffing by his bedroom door. His best friend, his companion, and most of all his boy. Jimin’s cheeks lift in a small smile, and the dog with a pelt of rich fawn brightens instantly, tail thumping the wall in innocent glee at seeing his handler’s eyes shine.

“Morning, bud.”

Not two hours later, Jimin’s sitting just outside the chief’s office. He waits with downcast eyes, fiddling with his fingers to ward away the nerves and anxiety causing his heartbeat to pick up speed.

He knows how it looks; he knows that everyone there can see through him and his firm expression. He’s never been good at hiding emotions very well, despite society’s expectation that anyone working in the law enforcement sphere should. No, not him, and that’s exactly why he has to leave it all behind.

“Officer Park…”

The chief’s eyes are not upset, angry or surprised by the news, but rather concerned. Jimin swallows his guilt down heavily, knowing full well that he has every right to do what he’s doing. He fights the urge to comb his fingers through his soft honey blonde hair, or the instinctual need to scratch at his own neck from the sheer distress of it all.

“Park, is it because of yesterday?”

That simple phrase was all it took to send him reeling back.

Flashing colours and background noise burst into focus, and Jimin suddenly finds himself reliving everything. Heavy well-worn boots thudding against the road slick with fresh rain, the sound of shrieking sirens all around, piercing his eardrums like knives. His lungs constricting, burning, with need for air as he follows Mandu into the darkness of the alley.

“Jung! Jung, where-”

Jimin can barely hear himself think above the clatter, the vicious snarling and gnashing of teeth against flesh being the only sound keeping him grounded. He has a job to do, and he’ll see it through to the end even if it costs him his life. He cocks his pistol and carefully peers around the corner of the dimly lit alleyway, hoping that the pathetic cries of the criminal under attack means that the coast is somewhat clear.

Anxiety bubbles up in his chest, for his partner and his boy, but he knows he can’t let his worry for them cloud his judgement now, of all times.

“Drop your weapon now!” he shouts above the noise, rounding the corner to apprehend the man currently locked into a bloody fight with his K-9 counterpart, desperately kicking and shoving to try and escape the ferociously snapping jaw knocking him down.

To Jimin’s relief, the weapon in question had been thrown down with a clatter amidst the man’s struggle, the gun still rotating slightly in its place from the force of its projection.

Then his bones freeze up when he watches the shiny object come to rest by a steel-capped boot, a boot so familiar to his eyes because it’s the exact same one he wears.

It’s Jung. Slumped against the wall, unmoving, unseeing … blood pools everywhere around him, and the iron-tinged smell hits Jimin right in the face until he can barely stand to breathe. “H-Hoseok, no…”

Mandu’s growls bring him crashing down to Earth, and Jimin’s pulled the trigger before he can even think twice about his actions. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s trained unconditionally to aim for non-fatal points on the human body, but right then and there, through the crimson haze of his fury, he wished he’d been able to do it.

Avenge him.

“Park…”

“Officer Park? Are you with me?”

Jimin gasps lightly, blinking his eyes to chase away the all-too-fresh memory from his mind yet again. His bottom lip is clamped so hard between his teeth, he wonders if the iron taste of blood in his mouth had actually been more than imagination. The superior officer sat at the desk in front of him nods solemnly.

“Park Jimin, I understand completely. I can’t stop you…”

The chief’s voice fades into the background as Jimin lets his thoughts wander once more, but he soon feels the darkness eating away at him again. The inner demons, the pain and suffering, because everyone leaves you, Jimin. The cycle repeats, you let yourself love then you let yourself lose.

“The … adoption of ‘Mandu’ as you’ve stated here, has already been finalised. We’re glad to see a long serving canine of our force retire to a responsible home. Thank you, Park.”

“Of course, Chief.”

The older man sighs and gives Jimin a once-over, clearly recognising that the man before him needs time to heal, however long that may be. Jimin feels it too, deep within his heart, his mind, and his very soul. This was it. He could finally hide. He could finally stop inflicting all this pain on himself and push it back to the deepest corners of his mind, where it would remain untouched.

“We thank you for your service, please hand in your badge and equipment by the end of the week.”

~ three months later ~

“That’s it for the day!”

Muscles aching and eyes watering from a yawn, you peel the stretchy gloves from your hands with a grimace. The sweaty feeling lingers on your skin long after throwing the disgusting things in the trash. It’s only after you shed your nurse scrubs and lanyard that you remember you aren’t quite ready to finish up.

“(Y/n), you just have to take Jessie out for a bit before you go,” your colleague calls, much to your chagrin at the reminder. It’s been a long day at the veterinary clinic, and even if vet nursing wasn’t quite as strenuous of a job as legitimate veterinarian work, it still sapped a decent amount of energy.

God, you just want nothing more than to go home to your warm bed, and your fluffball cat. Instead, you pack away your uniform and grab a leash to prepare for the walk.

“C’mon girl,” you coo gently to the old border collie resting in her cage. There was an immense pride in the way the clinic took care of its sick and injured animals, and that included exercising the dogs every single day without fail. You absolutely loved it, loved your job and everything it entailed.

Ten minutes later, you’re letting the gate to the local park click shut behind you.

The dog park is remarkably busy today, you muse after letting Jessie off her leash for a run. Inside the spacious area – fenced off nicely with grasses delightfully green from the Spring air – are dogs and puppies of various shapes, sizes and colours bounding around each-other like ping pong balls.

You can’t suppress a snort of amusement as a particularly handsome pooch catches your eye, something akin to a German Shepherd though not quite as large. Your eyes follow the energetic bundle of energy as he darts around the group of dogs, chasing them and nipping at their heels to keep them controlled, just how he likes it.

It was inevitable that Jessie would soon join in, and you can only let out knowing sigh at the sight of the beautiful collie’s eyes lighting up with that familiar fire; a flame that had remained dormant for many, many years within her ageing mind. She takes off and rounds up the strays of the flock, arthritis in her joints long forgotten as her instincts to chase and collect take over entirely.

“Mandu, why…”

A breathy sigh escapes the person standing barely a metre away from where you sit on the park bench, and you finally take a moment to observe the other dog owners milling around this sector of the park. Their eyes are wide in confusion as they witness the spectacle happening before them, but you’re brought back to the man closest to you as he lets out another disappointed click of his tongue.

“It’s normal with herding breeds,” you find yourself saying through a fond smile, though your socially awkward inner self wants to kick you in the ass for it. The man, who looks as though he’d been about to jump in to collect his zippy companion, falters in his motion to regard you in surprise.

“Yeah, uh, it’s just been a while since my boy’s done it.” He rubs at his neck self-consciously, eyes glancing around to see if anyone’s thrown him a dirty or judgemental look already. From your place on the wooden seat, you can easily catch the way the sunlight caresses the man’s unique features, the worn-out sneakers and running wear telling you that he comes this way often to exercise.

He clears his throat. “You…”

As he trails off, somehow losing confidence halfway through his sentence, you feel that familiar pang of embarrassment that comes with talking to strangers. “Mine’s the collie, so I know I should probably step in too.” You laugh quietly, instantly breaking eye-contact when he holds your stare for a second too long.

He was stunning, to say the least, with incredibly soft looking caramel hair swept back from his face, and pillowy looking lips that were large, but fitting when placed together with his smooth sloping cheekbones and an elegant jawline. His eyes, though, were tired. They were so tired, and you knew exactly what it felt like to leave home every day when you were … that emotionally exhausted.

At your comment, the man breaks into a grin, because well … you’re in the same boat here. He’s probably relieved that you hadn’t lectured him on dog behaviour or keeping his pet in check, or something like that. Nope, turns out you were just as liberal as he was.

You get to your feet, trying to inwardly shake the tingling in your chest from the sight of his lips curling into a smile alone, and jostle the leash in your hand to try and get your playful lady’s attention.

When that didn’t work, you let out a loud whistle and hope that the slight burning sensation travelling up the back of your neck would fade away soon. Although, you knew that as long as the curious man kept his eyes trained on you, it would persist. “Jessie, here girl.”

The beautiful stranger follows suit, but to your shock he barely has to make any noise, just a simple gesture and briskly spoken word before his responsive dog is sitting to attention at his feet. Ears pricked and warm canine eyes focusing on his owner as if nothing else in the world would ever matter as much as he did in that moment. You quickly look up to catch a glimpse of the man’s face once more, and the love now swimming in his gaze as he ruffles the dog’s pointy ears was nothing short of breathtaking.

You should go now.

You utter a tiny ‘bye’ as you take your leave, not even sure that the captivating man is able to hear you over the way he’s currently trying to scold his tawny-furred dog in a soft, gentle tone. A stern voice that still made it obvious just how endeared he was behind the annoyed façade.

You glance down to where Jess pads quietly on the pavement beside you, her black and white wavy pelt somewhat tousled from the exertion and her tongue lolling out in pure elation after stretching her legs. Sunlight, a blinding smile, caramel blonde hair…

How were you supposed to think of anything else now?

Three days pass, and you’re back in the clinic. Work is piling up, and you’re basically booked out thanks to a spontaneous outbreak of ‘Kennel Cough’ throughout nearby shelters. How the infectious disease spread to not one, but two localised areas, nobody knew.

“Someone must have taken their dog to all of them, or maybe had it transferred mid-vacation,” you growl to Dr. Kim, lining the antibiotics up on the med table after checking the clipboard thoroughly. Healthy vaccinated dogs would be fine, perhaps a tad sickly for a week or two, but puppies and those with immune deficiencies? Out of luck unfortunately.

“I’ve scheduled the radiographs for the most affected,” Dr. Kim informs, and you’re in a right mind to believe he’s only trying to reassure you right now. He sighs and flashes you a weary smile, age-lines prominent around his kind features thanks to the recent months of stress. “Hopefully we can rule out any pneumonia. You’re free to go on break by the way, Nurse (L/n).”

At the word ‘break’, you feel dread crash through your body like a heavy wave. Shit, had you forgotten to bring lunch today? A wishful image floats through your head of the delicately tossed Greek salad you’d prepared the night before, only problem being that it was still wrapped neatly in the fridge at home.

“Damn it,” you mutter, planting a forced smile on your face when the older doctor eyes you worriedly at the soft outburst. “Sorry, I’ll need to head out today.”

You can’t stop internally punching yourself for being forgetful, knowing that it’ll cost you precious time to walk to the nearest eateries and back. Perhaps if you owned a car, you’d be able to savour those few extra minutes of relaxing during your break.

Nope, it’s walking for you now. Idiot.

So off you go. The route is pleasantly quiet for the most part, with the sun slowly beginning to warm the leaves on trees as they protect their newly forming flower buds. There’s the incessant yet melodic chirping of birds while they scourge the nearby plants for food, either for themselves or their young. It was easy to stop and appreciate the various signs of revival and rebirth around you, but maybe not today.

Today, you had too much to worry about and too much weighing you down. There were so many helpless animal lives that were going to be lost, all because of one person and their ignorance. You had to come to terms with death fairly quickly when entering this line of work, but that didn’t make it any easier as time passed by.

Especially for someone like you.

You come to a sudden stop and blink your eyes firmly. The painted sign that blocks your path display the words ‘DOG PARK’ in all capitals, and it throws you off guard completely. You’d … somehow taken this heavy of a detour? Well, you suppose it could be worse, and the park did have another entrance on the far side you can use to somehow shortcut your way into town, but you can’t shake your confusion until ah.

There he is. The dog park guy, standing slightly off the well-trodden path. He’s dressed in a casual grey tee shirt and comfy matte black shorts this time, effortlessly showing off the defined muscles of his calves as he bends down to retrieve a bright green frisbee. He then flings it so high into the air, you doubt even his wonderfully enthusiastic dog will be able to catch up to it.

But when the well-built canine does in fact manage to clamp his teeth down on the airborne toy, you only manage to pick your jaw up off the floor after a handful of shellshocked moments. Some special kind of training had become evident in the way the animal springs off its hind legs with such intensity.

Right, you should stop staring like a maniac and keep walking.

At this rate, you’re going to be late back to work, and with the sheer number of things left to do and problems to solve with the shelters and kennels, you know that’s not an option. Hell, you’re so swallowed by your anxiety that you break out into a slow jog to make it at least halfway through the dog park in time.

Don’t look at him, don’t.

You glance at the man as you pass him, hoping to dear God that he’s focusing on his dog rather than the strange pet-less woman running through the park meant for pets, wearing dark forest-green scrubs underneath her jacket because she was too stupid to remember her food for the day. But alas, he is looking at you too.

It’s a weird kind of energy you can’t place, as if some kind of invisible force is trying to slow your feet down. The air thickens in resistance, and it’s like you’re barging through it to continue forward on your path. Everything in your body screams at you to stop, to talk to him, to say ‘hello’ with a smile because he deserves to have his own friendly one returned in some way. Oh wow, he’s actually looking at you, isn’t he?

The thing is, in situations like this you get nervous. You and attractive guys? Not quite the match made in heaven you’d probably expect. He flashes you that smile, all pearly whites to accompany the recognition from yesterday glittering in his startled gaze, but all you can manage is a strained grimace-like grin in return with a tiny wave of your sweaty palm.

Great. Fucking great.

At least you’re already gone before you can wallow in the humiliation; before you can simmer in it like a fine stew. He’s probably forgotten you already anyway, but you can’t help looking over your shoulder to check regardless.

Checkmate, he’s watching you go. The smile is now amused, and his head is cocked cutely to the side in playful confusion. As his dog jumps all over him to try and win back his attention, you flip the hoodie of your jacket up and try to ward off the embarrassed onslaught of laughter that bubbles in your chest. It would take more than a few days to wipe the image of his crescent moon shaped eyes from your memory this time around.

Jimin wakes to a wet and uncomfortable sensation prodding his face, and if he didn’t already have an innate sense for his favourite living being in the whole world, he’d be on his feet and ready to fight in no time at all.

“Mandu you gotta let me sleep,” he groans out, voice deep and groggy from his slumber. A persistent whine dragging from the throat of the animal rouses Jimin further, and he slides up to rest back on his elbows, eyes squeezing shut and skin covered in the slightest sheen of sweat from how hot it’d been under the bedcovers.

His dry lips part in a yawn. “Fine, you hungry?”

Mandu pokes his snout into Jimin’s cheek once more, big gentle brown eyes urging him to get up and start his day. Jimin knows that without his best friend with him, he’d barely have any motivation to step foot outside his room, let alone head out for a run each day consecutively.

It helps that his buddy looks out for him as diligently and as loyally as he had back when they were in the force together. It’s like nothing ever changed, and in the back of Jimin’s mind, he knows that the sense of routine had most likely saved his life time and time again.

“Alright,” he grunts loudly, lips curving into a smirk as he cups Mandu’s furry face into his palms, squishing the doggy cheeks he finds there together until the dog squirms in his spot on the bed. It’s not until Mandu lets out a frustrated yet playful growl that Jimin leaves him be with one last ruffle of his dark pointed ears.

Yeah, he really was fucked without his boy reminding him to eat, walk and sleep every day. Jimin knew it was pathetic, and he’d never felt so useless in his whole life, but it was enough to get him through for now.

Jimin scratches at his bare chest, freezing on his amble towards the kitchen when he spots something. Mandu stops along with him, his nails click on the floorboards in impatience but Jimin’s eyes are intensely locked onto the photo frame perched on the living room cabinet.

Idiot, of course there was one left.

He slams the frame down, making sure he can’t see the two laughing faces for a second longer than needed. He realises with a frown that he probably forgot to remove it due to barely ever setting foot in the living room as it was. Up until now, for the last five years, he’d spent most of his time at the station or out on the field. Patrolling, tracking … even apprehending, but that simply meant areas of his home went essentially unused for months on end.

Things were changing…

“Hey bud, what’s for breakfast?” he hums to his pal softly, finding a small happiness in the way Mandu circles around his legs like a bothered child. He assumes that if the dog were human, he’d be sporting the mightiest of pouts right about now.

Ten minutes later, Jimin finds himself nose deep in a bowl of flavourless cereal. On any other ordinary day, he and Mandu would usually race to see who could finish their meal the speediest, but he’s not feeling it this time around. The fawn coloured dog seems to give him a judgemental stare, as if saying ‘what’s wrong with you, did you let me win!?’ to which Jimin looks down at him and lets a breathy laugh fall from his lips.

“Not everything’s a competition boy, grow up already.”

Mandu simply huffs and moves to lay down, resting his muzzle on his front paws in defeat.

“How dare you roll your eyes at me.”

A dismissive sniff in response. Jimin finishes his meal with a shake of his head, knowing that if anyone were to ever hear the way he spoke to his pet dog, he’d most likely get shipped off to the nearest mental institution available. The sudden dark thought earns a surprised raise of his brows, but as he rinses his bowl off in the sink, he knows he has nothing to worry about.

It’s only him and Mandu now, and nobody else mattered. Nobody else was allowed to matter.

Yet Jimin’s always one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Even if he tries the hardest he can to shut the world out, he’s continuously drawn to people. Drawn to seek company and validation, drawn to love others with his whole heart unconditionally. He could have it all, but all the world does is take from him.

He sighs and sits back at the kitchen countertop, head resting on his folded arms much like the sassy child sprawled underneath the stool right now. “Do you think we’ll see the pretty lady from the park again today?”

The dog’s ear twitches, then flicks as if bothered by an irritating bug of some description. Jimin doesn’t know how to take that, really. Was it a no? Did Mandu even want to see her as much as he did? He supposes not, considering the ex-police dog was trained to be protective, and was instinctively so in every possible way.

He belongs to Jimin, and apparently that means Jimin belongs to him too, no friends allowed. Something in the back of his mind shouts that he shouldn’t be wanting friends anyway, that they were something to be afraid of.

“Whatever.”

It was the next day when things turned sour. To Jimin’s slight disappointment, they hadn’t seen the pretty lady in strange green attire again, but something did go horribly wrong instead.

Jimin exits the bathroom with a snowy white towel draped over his head, hoping that somehow his laziness will be overlooked for once and the towel will simply dry his hair for him with no additional effort, only for the fabric to fall from his head once he catches sight of Mandu walking down the hallway. Only he’s not walking, but rather limping.

“Buddy c’mere,” Jimin calls, voice pitching higher than usual in concern. With fear and cold hard dread settling deep into the pit of his stomach, Jimin observes the dog instantly perking up at the sound of his voice.

Mandu lets out a small yelp of excitement, but still has a stiffness and slight limp to his gait when he makes his way over. Jimin crouches down and pets the canine fondly, the sinking of his heart telling him that his suspicions were right all along.

Something is wrong here. He has to know what’s up, has to make sure his boy’s alright.

Jimin’s bundled the both of them into the car before he can stop to even think straight, and Mandu is nothing but a ball of excitement – bouncing around and goofily grinning the entire time. It hurts to think he’s fooling the dog into believing they’re going on some sort of spontaneous adventure, but that wouldn’t be entirely wrong. It’s only around noon so the local vet clinic has to be open, right?

He’s not dying, you really need to chill out.

Jimin knows his inner voice speaks the truth, but he continues to justify his frantic driving with a carefully crafted self-assurance. He’s only making sure, he’s simply worried for his baby.

He doesn’t stop to think about the way his hair is still unpleasantly damp from the shower, having forgotten to actually dry it beforehand, or the way his socks had somehow ended up being odd colours. He hastily finds a park outside the clinic and attaches his leash to Mandu’s collar.

What Jimin doesn’t expect to see, when striding through the administration doors with the dog in his arms, is you.

Your expression matches his own look of astonishment, your beautiful eyes widening in recognition in the exact same split-second his do. If Jimin was being honest with himself, he could probably just stand there looking at you for the next thirty minutes or so, but a miniscule wriggle from the animal in his hold brings him crashing back down to Earth.

“Um, hi,” he begins awkwardly, paces enormous as he lurches towards the desk you’re bracing your hands upon, still recovering from the shock of seeing him again it seemed. “I have a problem…”

You clear your throat and try not to smile at the amusing sight before you. Jimin knows it can’t be the strangest thing you’ve ever seen here, but the openly scared and confused dog clutched to his chest is enough to make you bite your lip in an effort to restrain yourself.

“I can see that. Luckily, we’ve got nobody in queue so you can jump right out back with me,” you say with a kind lilt to your tone that Jimin can tell is part of the customer service sector of your job description. He doesn’t really mind, nor does he even care. Right now, his only concern is Mandu.

No pretty lady in green scrubs is going to distract him from his best bud right now.

Fifteen minutes pass, and Jimin is worrying the skin of his bottom lip with his teeth. His wide troubled eyes trail over every movement you make as you examine the incredibly stiff and uncomfortable dog on the sterilised table. When Jimin meets Mandu’s startled gaze, he tries his best to calm his best friend down in a familiar gentle tone he would use at home.

“It’s okay buddy, you’ll be alright. Good boy…”

If you’re irritated or weirded out by his vocalisations, you don’t show it. Your mind seems to be too wrapped up in gently working your fingertips into the back haunches of the dog, massaging in slow circles. Jimin’s drawn in by the way you handle Mandu with such care and precision, and he begins thinking that if you were to do that to him, he’d probably be relaxing in no time.

Weird thoughts, but whatever, I guess.

The same can’t be said for the dog, though, and Jimin can only pick up the intensity of his soothing praises once he catches sight of Mandu trembling in fear on the table. The dog’s elbows seem to want to buckle under the stress of the situation, and it breaks Jimin’s heart to pieces to see his pal all worked up like this. It’s lucky that the animal has been trained well enough to trust in his handler’s presence alone, otherwise this whole examination might’ve taken a … darker and more vicious turn.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” he asks you quickly, voice high and strained as he reaches forward to scratch behind one of the dog’s ears in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. Mandu licks his palm in return, and usually Jimin would recoil and protest loudly, but today he was fairly sure he’d let his boy get away with anything.

You sigh softly, and Jimin doesn’t know what that means at first, but then you peel the gloves from your hands and flash him a small smile. Everything starts to feel okay somehow. “You see, Sir, this is quite commonly seen in specific breeds of dog, including your German-”

“Belgian Malinois.” The correction is out before he can hold it back, and Jimin wants to slap himself for how snappy and rude it sounds, but you don’t take offense in the slightest. Instead, he’s stunned once more when you click your fingers with a light gasp of realisation.

“That’s what it is! I was trying to remember the name of this breed for days on end, after the first time I saw him in the park.”

Jimin raises his brows at that, feeling the last of his anxiety melt from his bones at the sight of your smile, which was slowly beginning to familiarise itself to him.

“Ah, well you could’ve asked me. I would’ve told you in a heartbeat.” He chuckles, though it’s somewhat dry from the raw emotions still running their course through his brain. When you let out a soft laugh in return, he forces himself to tear his eyes away.

“Oh well, anyway you can calm down a bit, there’s nothing life threatening going on here just yet,” you assure in a calming tone, and Jimin can easily sense how there’s more sincerity behind the sound compared to the voice you’d used earlier when greeting him.

“There are two things I can narrow down for you, taking into consideration the information you’ve given me so far. Commonly found in these breeds is something called hip dysplasia, where the hip joint undergoes abnormal development or growth. The other possibility for his lameness is a form of chronic arthritis called osteoarthritis, which deteriorates joint cartilage more commonly in older dogs like Mandu here.”

“He’s not that old though?” Jimin hums, brows furrowing in bewilderment at the news. He pats the dog’s head fondly, saddened but glad that he can breathe a little easier now that he knows what’s going on.

“Perhaps, but he’s lived a very active lifestyle, you see. Heavy strain and activity on the dog’s body can bring this forth quicker, much the same as it does in humans,” you explain with a sad sigh.

“I do recommend getting x-rays done to check out the full extent of the damage, as well as to check for any other abnormalities.”

You then take your leave to fetch the main doctor, and Jimin finds himself startled to discover you’re only a veterinary nurse here. By the way you were reeling off information from the top of your head, as well as the confident manner in which you examined and diagnosed his dog, he would’ve effortlessly assumed you ran the goddamn joint.

He waits in the administration area while Mandu’s getting his x-rays done, fingers fiddling with themselves from the trepidation building up inside him. He doesn’t even hear you enter the room, and can’t help his back going ramrod straight attentively when you clear your throat. Curse his years of training in the force.

“Hey, I can just see that you’re a little stressed out there. He must mean a lot to you.” You walk around the corner of the front desk and take your place one seat away from him. Jimin realises that you most likely keep your distance from most customers with an unmistakeable barrier of professionalism, but for him you seem to be stepping right out of your comfort zone.

He can tell by the unnecessarily chipper tone of your voice, and how your eyes flicker nervously to the side every once in a while. You’re good at hiding how anxious you are, he’ll give you that, but not good enough to escape watchful eyes such as his. Not when he goes through the exact same thing.

He finally musters the courage to respond after a few seconds of simply eyeing you in curiosity. “Yep.” He smiles tightly and returns his gaze to his interlocked fingers, knowing the expression wouldn’t reach his eyes. “He’s been with me through thick and thin. Almost like a little brother or son to me, as weird as that probably sounds.”

“I wouldn’t say weird,” you instantly oppose, laughing to brighten the sullen mood Jimin knows he’s bestowed upon you. “I think it’s sweet, and he’s a very lucky dog to have someone caring about him so much.”

Your sentiment melts the icy sadness around Jimin’s heart ever so slightly. The cold blanket encompassing him ever since his last loved one left his side. He hasn’t felt the urge to open up since, but he knows he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. “I- thanks, I guess.”

Before he can continue on and ruin the somehow light-hearted atmosphere by telling you he wants to be alone, you’re suddenly speaking again in that gentle voice of yours. “It’s kinda funny how we keep running into each-other, don’t you think? I can’t help but hope you’ll both be at the park whenever I pass by…”

Jimin’s at a loss for words at your candour, looking up sharply to see the way you’re shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and avoiding his eyes like the plague. It looks as though you regret the words as soon as they’re out in the open air.

But … he feels the same.

He can’t say it. He won’t. He can’t just let you in and create a space for yourself in his life, or heart right now. He cannot admit that you’ve lived in his mind for free ever since he saw you that second time, running past him with that smile on your face, confusing him with your antics to no end. Why do you keep getting under his skin in the best possible way?

“I mean, i-if you’d like to go out for coffee or something later on, I-”

He dips his head with a small sniff to attempt to cut you off in a somewhat polite manner. “Ah sorry, I’ve got a … funeral at two. Not really in the mood these days, but I appreciate it. Seriously, I do.”

He doesn’t wish to see your reaction to his less than eloquent rejection, but he catches it regardless. That wrenching moment you come to the conclusion that you read the signs all wrong. The glimmer of hope and interest in your eyes slowly flickering out like dying embers, although not completely, and he has no doubt it ever would.

You frown and instantly come through with a quiet “I’m sorry for your loss,”, but Jimin dismisses the sympathy with a tiny wave of his hand, claiming that it was a colleague and acquaintance rather than a close friend or family member.

It’s already obvious to him how much of an optimist you are. You’re holding onto that tiny shred of hope as if it were the string of a helium balloon, one moment of slack and he’d be floating away from you far out of reach.

“Right, sorry if I overstepped.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’re way too considerate and understanding of him, and the painful burn that leaves on his conscious is so real. It reminds him of all the times his brother would tell him to never take people’s kindness for granted, but here he was shooting you down even though you’d never given him a reason to.

In fact, he likes you enough to go back almost instantly on his words.

“I really am busy, otherwise … I would actually love to, believe me.” He combs a hand through his hair in exasperation, inwardly cringing at the damp dewy sensation greeting his palm as he’s reminded again of his post-shower dilemma. You’re already chuckling at your newfound victory, and he’s pleasantly surprised at the sudden streak of mischief in your eyes.

“Let’s make it a date for Saturday then, see you at the park usual time? I’ll make sure to come out earlier so I don’t miss you again.”

Damn you’re assertive, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t liking it. Something in the way you so effortlessly drew him out of his shell was electrifying. Was he even in total control of his own emotions right now?

He’s left in a stunned silence, nodding in response to your question before you’re suddenly making your exit, uttering something along the lines of ‘best wishes for the funeral’ and ‘good luck with Mandu’, but he can barely hear beyond the rushing of blood past his ears. He’s a flustered mess of a man right now.

He only regains majority of his focus once he’s left the clinic with some anti-inflammatory and pain meds for his dog, a slight dent in his bank account, and a date.

Holy fuck. You really did that. You did.

When it came down to it, you just saw your shot and took it. Simple as that, really. When the attractive guy from the dog park had shown up at the clinic, piercing deep brown eyes full of purpose, you’d very nearly felt your brain short-circuit at the sight. However, as time went on you began to get a glimpse of his true self.

It took every ounce of strength within you not to openly coo at the way he soothed his canine friend, with gentle words of encouragement spilling from his plush lips like a steady stream of water. If you’d been blind, you might have even been led to assume he was speaking to a fellow human.

Jimin, he’d revealed as his name. He was so lost in his worry for Mandu you didn’t think he’d even retained memory of your own name when you’d given it, but in the end it didn’t matter. You now had a literal date planned where you could talk and get to know him even more! How you’d managed to force the bold question out, you’ll never know, but hey at least one of your spontaneous and stupid decisions had to go well once in a while, right?

You sink into your couch, a fluffy white cat curled up on your lap as you relive the memories from the day. The relaxing sounds of purring surround you as you massage your fingers into your cat’s thick neck fur.

“Oh Ghostie, what the heck am I gonna do?”

Right now you can only think back to the way his hair was a bit of a jumbled mess, evidently damp and sticking out in all directions cutely. The addicting scent of his body-wash, if the rushed situation and flushed complexion was anything to go by, and aftershave. The man had those butterflies swooping around in your stomach already, and you barely knew him.

Your cat growls in protest when you let out a tiny squeal and make a harsh grab for a couch cushion, effectively burying your face deep into it in pure unadulterated embarrassment and disbelief. After living life being perfectly happy and single, why was this one somewhat decent-looking man sweeping you off your feet?

And sweep you off your feet he would, because when you finally show up to meet him at the dog park on Saturday, you’re being harshly barked at and sent flying to the ground before you can even process what’s happened. The dull ache from the force of impact fades quickly, and you try to regain your bearings before anything worse can happen.

“Fuck, sorry!”

The sight of your freshly washed jeans, now sporting a lovely scuff, causes you to cringe slightly. You shake your head and lock eyes with the pointy-eared dog standing over your body. It strikes you as bizarre, seeing as Mandu’s not exactly attacking you, but he’s not all that happy to see you either. You’re locked into a stand-off, despite you currently being knocked onto your ass with your heart still racing.

“Get off her!” comes Jimin’s outraged yell, his eyes are wide in sheer disbelief and disappointment. You can’t help but laugh softly at his exasperation, the shock of the fall now trickling away at the sight of the familiar face, or rather faces.

“I’m sorry (Y/n), I honestly don’t know what came over him. We were waiting by the pond and he just … took off when you came around!”

You stand and brush your clothes off, feeling your cheeks burn at the fact that he had actually remembered your name from the clinic the other day. You try to tell him it’s fine, but he still scolds the now sheepish looking dog at his feet – albeit as gently as possible through his vexation.

“I couldn’t leave him at home,” Jimin starts, sighing and clipping a leash to the dog’s collar pointedly. “Told him to behave himself but yeah, that didn’t go down well.” He regards you with concerned eyes, and you feel your heart melt at how he tries to subtly check you over for any injuries.

“I’m fine, Jimin, trust me. Working at the clinic means I’ve had my fair share of body-slams. Don’t sweat it.” You wave your hands before squatting, lowering yourself to be face-to-face with Mandu who still seemed to be eyeing you warily.

You understood it. Here you were, nothing more than a stranger, trying to take his owner and favourite person in the world away from him. You had to somehow convince Mandu that you weren’t a threat to their little family of two.

“Hey, buddy. Remember me?” You slowly reach out a hand to pat the top of the dog’s furry head, eager to earn his trust. “I’m not gonna hurt either of you, promise.”

You miss the way something flickers in Jimin’s eyes after hearing you say that. A glazed look of predictability, of cold hard doubt … but it’s gone when you rise to your feet once more. The dog seems to have accepted you for now, averting his eyes from the direct and intimidating glare he’d had trained on you ever since he’d pinned you down.

“Shall we, then?” You find yourself saying, self-confidence shocking you both as you smile and lead the way out of the park and towards the middle of town.

It doesn’t take long to find a nice café to sit at, and it’s with reluctance that Jimin leaves Mandu tied up outside. However, he knows he has to tone down his attachment in view of the public eye, and you especially. He doesn’t know just how far you’re willing to go for him.

He was a closed iron door to the world, yet he was still somewhat intrigued to see your efforts in getting inside. There was no way he was going let it happen, not again, but … why was he here then?

After ordering the coffees, him taking his black after years of late nights on patrol and you filling yours with sugar, you both surprisingly hit it off well. You suppose that after noticing how heavily you could relate to him, and vice versa, it was easy to understand one another and fall into steady conversation.

“The police force, huh.” You sip at your drink with a drawn-out hum of confirmation. “I actually kinda guessed that.”

Jimin blinks in shock. “You did?”

“Yeah! I mean I’ve seen Mandu a handful of times now, and it’s in the way he’s thoroughly trained to listen to your every command, not to mention the way he moves. When I gave him the check-up at the clinic, I forgot to mention that I just assumed your occupation when I said ‘active lifestyle’ back then.”

There is no way you’re going to tell him that you’d also made that assumption based on the man’s incredible build and well-toned muscles as well. Best to keep your thoughts on the dog, and luckily for you Jimin turns his head to check on his companion resting outside by a bowl of water, allowing your eyes to roam freely for a decent second or so.

“Well, you’re more observant than I thought,” Jimin notes through a breathy laugh, fingers lightly tapping at his coffee mug in thoughtful contemplation. You can’t help getting lost in the sight of him yet again.

He’s an absolute vision right now even if he’s dressed casually, only foregoing the shorts and joggers for simple black jeans and flatform sandals. His hair looks as soft as ever, and though his eyes are still open windows that show he’s hurting inside, you can’t help finding the immense beauty behind the pain.

There’s a short, comfortable silence as you both nurse your mugs of caffeine, but you break it in fear of letting an awkward air settle in. Damn, you do love being a little socially inept sometimes.

“Why the name Mandu?” You think it’s an innocent question, but unbeknownst to you, Jimin’s thoughts spiral at the reminder. The memories and origins of his boy’s name that uncomfortably sting at his heart like nettles.

“Ah, it was my brother who named him … actually,” he reveals, wondering if the slight crack of his voice is noticeable as he smiles convincingly. If you see through him, you don’t show it. Instead, you register the hint ever so slightly and aim to avoid prying.

“You would’ve only had him for a few years, right?”

“I served for five, so yeah he’s only been mine for a few years, but I did meet him before that while we were both in training.” Jimin laughs at what seems to be a fond memory, pushing the other ones to the back of his mind for now. “I was a little obnoxious about it back then, because I had to be with him. I demanded it to the chief and everything, if I wasn’t getting Mandu then I would drop my application because we’d bonded so well.”

You giggle, and cough lightly to hide your embarrassment instantly afterwards. “I love that, it’s quite obvious to me that you two are meant for each other.”

“What about you? Got any pets?” he asks, eyes alight with a newfound interest. Catching the way he leans forward in his seat ever so slightly; you feel a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. Jimin was finally relaxing around you.

“Yeah, a cat.” You cover your mouth with one hand to suppress your amusement, waiting for Jimin to scoff at you or screw his face up in disgust, but he doesn’t. Rather, he looks upwards in thought and then shakes his head while chuckling meaningfully. “Mandu would hate you for saying that.”

“Not a fan?”

“Absolutely not. I’m impartial though.” He watches you over the rim of his mug when he lifts it, an amused glimmer in his eye.

“Good to know. Good to know.” Your eyebrows shoot up and you can’t wipe the grin from your face, absent-mindedly stirring your coffee with your spoon. It wouldn’t be long before the drinks were finished, but you didn’t want this moment in time to end.

The two of you chat for another half hour or so, but you can’t help noticing the distant look that surfaces in Jimin’s gaze whenever he brings up old memories of his family or brother. Your curiosity burns at this point, and you feel yourself wanting to get to know him so much more. He’s such an enigma to you. Watching the way he tries to let go and be himself, unapologetically, but holding back just as you catch an addictive glimpse of what that might be.

As you exchange more stories and memories, you can’t help but feel yourself digging a little deeper to uncover what’s tearing him down so hard. “You keep mentioning your brother, I’m guessing you guys are close?”

And ah, now you’ve done it. It hurts to see the guarded expression slam back down on Jimin’s features, but you knew it had to be done. You didn’t know if it were just you who could see it, but by repressing all his memories and feelings, Jimin was doing more harm than good to himself. Some internal part of you wanted to help him, because you knew exactly what it was like.

Though you weren’t expecting every dam to break just yet.

It takes a moment for Jimin to deliberate on his next words, but you wait out every second with him, patient and understanding. He notices this and decides that it’s alright for him to indulge just this once, to let someone in for just a single moment. “Not really, well … used to be. He, uh, he left town a while ago.”

Left?

You keep your tone quiet, not wanting to scare him away because he did seem like the type to take off at any given moment. “Sorry to hear that,” you murmur.

“It’s alright,” he says, wondering just how much he should give away. It’s the first time he’s met up and gone out with someone he’d consider a ‘friend’ of sorts in ages, so he’s not sure how much he should be disclosing right now, but something about you makes him want to let it all go. It scares him like nothing else.

“Honestly it hasn’t been … a great time for me since he left. Y’know, he was the only one that ever stayed, and things were tough being in the force and everything,” he offers through a dry laugh.

You want to reach out for his hand on the café table so badly, but it’s too soon to be that close. He’s testing the waters right now, showing you a vulnerable side that you can easily tell he doesn’t let out very often. It warms your heart, and all these broken feelings he’s showing you make everything feel so real. You can’t help but want to give yourself back to him.

“I can’t imagine it would’ve been easy. I know how it feels, actually.” You mentally prepare yourself to revisit a time you usually laid to rest, keeping the gentle smile on your face because even though these subjects were touchy and very meaningful to the two of you, you’d actually come to terms with yours years and years ago. Learned how to turn that pain and suffering into progress, self-growth.

“You do?” You can tell the sheer hope and relief in his tone doesn’t quite match the caution in his eyes, as if he doesn’t want to think that someone as bright and bubbly as you can ever have as many problems as he does, but you shut that train of thought down for him.

“Yeah, I … don’t have any family left either.”

He wants to know how, why, but he pulls himself back from the question almost instantly. Still, you can see it all on his features. He’s an open book for you to read.

“It’s okay Jimin, I came to terms with it a while back. I’m an only child, but my parents died when I was a teen.”

It hits him like a freight train then. The realisation that yes, of course there are other people in the world who have lost just like he has. The sad but forgiving look in your eyes just about breaks him. He’s been so self-centred the whole time, not even thinking that maybe you’re sitting across from him going through a life just as lonely as his own.

“I don’t know what to say.” To your shock, it’s him that reaches across the table to grasp your hand gently, and you hadn’t even realised it was shaking slightly until he’d steadied it with his own. There were no hidden intentions in his gaze, just a pained understanding. You’d both needed to simply tell someone.

“I promise I’m fine now. It was years ago. I don’t even know why I’m…”

You trail off with a shaky laugh, tightening your grip on his hand slightly in fear that he would let go of you. You were essentially strangers, but you’d both needed this. You needed someone to listen as you talked, to have that visceral sense for the pain rather than simply try sympathising with it. It was different when you knew the feeling.

After the sudden serious note of the conversation had passed, both you and Jimin felt a little weight taken off your shoulders. You’d both torn some walls down today, and that in itself was enough to garner bucketloads of respect and admiration on both accounts.

You part ways back at the park, a new kind of friendship blossoming that, if you were being honest, neither of you had seen coming.

A couple of months pass after that, and in between his regular walks and visits to the clinic, Jimin finds himself spending more and more time in your presence. He even jokes around with Mandu that he should walk just a tad more lamely so he can stay a little longer between check-ups. But at the end of the day he knows he truly wants his boy to get better.

The first time he steps foot inside your house, he’s instantly halted in his tracks by the fluffiest white cat he’s ever seen. After hearing you mention, ‘she hates strangers’, and ‘she’ll probably cuss you out straight away’, it comes as a surprise to both of you when Ghost wraps herself around Jimin’s leg and purrs needily. A louder purr than you’ve ever received in your whole ten years of being her owner.

“Stop whoring yourself out! He’s just here to pick up some worming tablets,” you tut in disapproval, earning a hearty laugh from Jimin at the snappy tone. Ghost narrows her green eyes at you and rubs her chin along Jimin’s pant leg one more time for good measure, proceeding to saunter into the kitchen utterly oozing with sass.

After a few more random visits, you stop beating around the bush and begin inviting Jimin over to either chill out or have dinner. Obviously, more often than not it turned out to be both.

You’d order something in and then joke about how unhealthy you were for being too lazy to cook. Jimin even gets so exasperated sometimes that he carts food over from his own home to cook up in your kitchen, funnily enough. It wasn’t your fault you never really had the time to teach yourself during your unrelenting years of university and work, and it wasn’t as if you had a parent around to help you learn as a child.

Jesus, way to be depressing.

It wasn’t uncommon for you and Jimin to find random spots of humour within your combined trauma and abandonment issues either, as unhealthy as that sounds.

You always figured that life was too short to be sad all the time anyway, and even though that ideology alarmed your newfound friend at first, he soon slowly began to see the appeal. He was kind of over being sad, honestly.

He remembers standing by the coffin at Hoseok’s funeral, the very same fateful day he’d encountered you at the clinic for the first time. He’d felt overwhelmed at the emotions threatening to pull him apart at the seams, but at the same time, he’d felt cold at the lack thereof.

That was the result of letting himself get close to someone again, even through work of all places. His partner with the sunny disposition and heart-shaped smile? Gone from this world in a single click of a finger. It was too easy, too much of a risk to get closer. Jimin remembers not even being able to bring himself to cry back then, but things are starting to change now that you’re in the picture.

He still has that lingering dread that you’ll leave him too, but try as he might to keep you at arm’s length, he simply can’t. You bring out the best in him, and you make him want to try harder, to try being better. In a sense, you’re like another Mandu to him. He can’t just ignore that.

He tells you about Hoseok one night, just because it comes up in conversation and he’s already rambling on before he can stop himself. He looks up at your crestfallen face, knowing your heart hurts for him even though he’s unable to muster the correct emotions, all thanks to the disconnection he’s forged from his dead colleague already.

He recalls severing himself from those feelings right as he died, and again when he stood by his body at the funeral, but then you went and somehow reconstructed that bridge without him knowing.

“You know it’s okay to miss people, Jim. To remember them for who they were, and what they meant to you. It’s okay to miss them because they’re gone.”

He cries in your arms until 1 a.m. that night.

After a while, he begins to let people see the true him, fed up with hiding and done with shutting the world out. He returns smiles directed his way in the street, he ventures out to do nothing but simply stop and smell the roses. It’s refreshing, and it’s as if he can barely remember what it feels like after years of being chained down by depression and self-loathing.

You did that, with your calming presence, your affirming words, your genuine care. He’ll never forget it.

And slowly but surely, Mandu begins to warm up to you as well.

“I swear he’s only squaring up just to show off or something,” Jimin snorts as he walks beside you on the concrete path, Mandu in tow on a leash now that you’re leaving the park.

“He’s asserting dominance.” You cast a glance behind you to see the dog glaring you down, just as usual.

‘Why the hell are you walking next to him when I’m supposed to be there? You’re just a lowly human who doesn’t deserve my dad’s time or attention. How dare you!’

You bite back a laugh when you imagine the thoughts running through Mandu’s head, and he sniffs and growls at the sight of you not taking him seriously. He’s a big bad wolf, fear him goddammit.

“I’m sure he’ll accept me into the pack one day,” you respond good-naturedly, earning an eye-roll from Jimin as he shoots a pointed look of warning towards his boy once more. He can’t help but feel tingles erupt across his skin hearing ‘the pack’ come from your mouth. You make it sound like an actual family, and for some reason he seems to crave exactly that. That’s what all of you are to Jimin, a little family.

“Sure, but good luck convincing him to accept Ghost. I’m sure he’ll be walking around with a ‘NO CATS ALLOWED’ sign hanging from his neck soon enough.”

The dog agrees.

The next day is when Mandu’s last check-up is scheduled, and you wait by the front desk nervously as Jimin discusses options with Dr. Kim in the next room over. It’s been several weeks since the dog’s initial diagnosis, and he’s had a slight improvement, but it isn’t enough.

You and Jimin have spoken about how worried he is regarding the dog’s rapid muscle loss, and your heart always constricts at the sight as well. There’s only so much medication you can give.

You already know that Jimin’s current status of unemployment means he probably doesn’t have the means to fund more than one surgery, that is if he wants to remain financially stable. You’d need another plan.

“Hydrotherapy?” Jimin squawks. He’s a picture of confusion right now, one eyebrow cocked and pretty lips parting in surprise. You can’t help laughing at his dumbfounded expression.

“Yes, Jiminie. Dr. Kim has asked me to explain it to you so we can work out when to schedule it. Basically, dogs with chronic arthritis need to be able to exercise their joints and muscles without the excess strain, so regular swimming sessions are perfect.”

“It’ll help him get stronger?”

“Exactly, and since he’s up to date on his vaccinations we can organise a session right away, if you’d like?”

Jimin can’t suppress a shit-eating grin at the formal tone you’re using with him. He’s so used to messing around with you and having general chatter that the sudden switch to your ‘customer’ voice, as he calls it, is now more amusing to him than ever. You grumble under your breath, knowing all too well that he’s making fun of you without actually saying it.

“Fine, when can we start then? I’ve only ever seen him swim once, and it didn’t go well for the bad guy,” Jimin acquiesces, lifting his brows once and smirking at you mischievously. You ignore him.

“That’s alright Sir, we can start this Thursday.” You smile in such a pretentious and artificial way that Jimin has to smother his offended gasp. Now you’re just being rude.

“Pretending not to know who I am? Damn, guess I’ll just throw that strawberry shortcake I bought in the bin when I get home…”

And he’s got you. Your eyes light up and your fingers curl into fists on the desktop. You swallow thickly at the thought of him eating one of your favourite desserts on his own, or even worse throw it out like the heathen he is, but you’re determined not to cave in.

“I’m sorry Sir, I don’t quite follow. Your unhealthy affairs have little importance to me.”

You’re putting up a fight this time around, and Jimin’s willing to play. He leans on the desk with his elbow, the suave and impish air he suddenly exudes makes you nervous on the other side of the marble structure. “In that case, can we make this quick? I gotta rush home and catch up on the last two episodes of ‘Anohana’.”

This time you can’t contain your sharp inhale. “You promised we’d watch that together.”

Jimin chuckles with glee, taking the easy victory with a cocky lick of his lips. You trail the movement with your eyes before glaring at him again. “I don’t even care, you’d better not.”

He enjoys riling you up way too much. “Or what?”

“I’ll literally bust down your door at 2 a.m. in the morning Park, don’t test me.”

He knows you’re only joking around, but hearing his last name uttered in such a grave manner shifts something within him. He’s suddenly transported back to the chief’s office, hands wringing together in unease. “Park, is this about yesterday?”

“Park! He ran over there, follow me quick!”

“Jung wait…”

He has to shake his head, the smattering of memories and thoughts filtering from his mind slower than he’d like. He needs to drown out the sound of the echoing gunshot with something else, something louder.

You’re watching him the entire time with an apologetic gaze, picking up the miniscule signs that tell you he’s had something from the past triggered and brought back up unwillingly. You don’t even know what it is that you said, but you stay quiet and allow him to regain his composure.

“You okay Jiminie?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just thought of something,” he hums, not bothering to try and pretend as if nothing happened. You both knew each other too well at this point, and you understood him enough to have learned it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Sometimes these things just happened.

“Thursday sounds great, (Y/n).”

“Of course, I’ll lock it in. How does catching those last few episodes tonight sound? We can ugly cry and eat ice-cream like the cliché we are,” you say with an enthusiastic clap of your hands, and Jimin smiles tenderly. You always have a sense for what he needs.

He inwardly thanks the heavens for your existence, because now he won’t be alone in the silence of his home, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Even Mandu couldn’t help him sometimes.

“Lovely. It sounds lovely.”

You’ve changed him, and he wants to spend the rest of his life telling you just how thankful he is.

So when his phone rings one late night and he sees your name light up on the screen, he doesn’t hesitate to pick it up, even though his past self would have lethargically thrown it to the side while shrinking away from any kind of human interaction that wasn’t necessary.

“Hey,” he mumbles, eyes still squeezed shut from sleep.

Silence.

He’s startled into a more wakeful state by Mandu lifting his head suddenly from his lap, the attentive canine’s ears twitching as he bores holes into the phone in Jimin’s hand. Now worrying, Jimin says your name into the phone twice, eyes scanning the way his dog seems to be picking up whatever tiny sounds are coming from the speaker.

There’s a sniffle, and a tiny hiccup. “Jimin … I’m sorry. Can you come over right now?”

Anxiety flares up like some kind of wildfire within him, and Jimin’s rocketing from the bed before he can take the time to stop, breathe and think. Mandu follows, a bark of alarm leaving him as he dances around Jimin’s bare feet in excitement. He gets that the dog doesn’t know any better, but from the sound of your sobbing on the other side of the line, anyone could tell that something had gone terribly wrong.

He needs to be by your side now.

“Mandu stay,” he orders, not caring to use any proper commands due to the way his hands are shaking. His heart is hammering against his ribcage, just as it had way back when he’d rushed Mandu to the vet for a simple arthritis problem. Now, his next favourite being in the world was the source of his panic.

He’s thrown on whatever clothes he can find and tries to ignore Mandu’s flurry of whines and howls from inside the house once he’s settled in the car. You’re still on the phone, but he can barely get a word in when you’re crying and blubbering nonsense like you currently are. The most Jimin can do as he drives is what he would need in the stark moments of a mental breakdown, gentle words of encouragement and … a song.

He hates himself for it, but he remembers the lullaby his brother used to sing for him whenever he cried, and he hopes to dear God that he can calm you down with his voice just as Taehyung had when they were younger. The soothing notes fall from his lips, and the memories they bring hurt so much that he can feel himself choking up, but he tells himself that you matter more.

He pulls up to your house ten minutes later, your crying thankfully reduced to a collection of whimpers and sniffles. He doesn’t dare hang up, but barges through the front door without a single second of hesitation. He briefly glimpses the flash of a white fluffy tail disappearing down the hallway, the cat obviously scared out of its mind from the recent events.

Then he sees you curled up in the kitchen, and he just wants to make everything stop.

You’ve got your head in between your knees, tears falling freely from your cheeks as you cradle one arm in your other. Jimin notices with a jolt of shock that the arm you’re holding is all red and blotchy, and it’s clear to him that you must’ve burned yourself somehow.

He rushes to your side and holds you as carefully as he can, almost slipping on the pool of water and charred remnants of baking paper scattered on the tiled floor just beside you. “What happened?” he urges after trying to soothe your trembling form for ten minutes.

He has you on your feet now, arm in the sink as he runs icy cold water over the heated skin as gently as he can. He’s clumsier than you though, so even as he tries to handle your limbs with as much care as you’d once handled Mandu at the clinic, you still wince in pain every now and again. Guilt shoots through Jimin every time, but he knows you’ll forgive him.

You don’t speak until your arm is sufficiently treated and wrapped, thanks to Jimin’s courses in first aid that he can barely remember at this point, but it serves him well enough for now. Your eyes are downcast, and your lips are cracked from all the grief you’d caused them with your teeth. He waits for you to get it together.

“I’m … I’m sorry you had to come all this way-”

“Don’t say that, I’m so glad you called me (Y/n),” he cuts you off, leading you to the plush couch in the living room and sitting you down firmly. He kneels in front of your figure, now wrapped tightly in a blanket for security and comfort, and rests both of his hands on your upper arms.

“You need to tell me what happened, do you feel alright now?”

You nod your head, but he fixes you with strong disbelieving eyes and boom you’re weakened, shaking your head with a sigh. “No, I’m not.”

“How can I help? I’m not great at it, but I really want to help you,” he says earnestly, fingers pressing circles into your arms and calming you down enough to breathe evenly. Your lips twitch up into a nervous smile.

“That song you sang over the phone helped a lot, actually. I don’t know why.”

Hearing that causes Jimin to undergo a whirlwind of conflicted emotions, but he once again tells himself that you’re the only one that matters right now. He starts to sing again but you reach forward to ruffle his messy hair with a chuckle. “It’s okay, I’m just letting you know.”

Thank God, he thinks. Then again, maybe if he uses the melody and lyrics for good, those negative associations could be turned into positive ones. Maybe it was time to make the song his own.

He sees you struggling to think of where to begin and shifts to take a seat next to you with a smile. “Just start with what happened, yeah?”

“Okay.” You nod, combing back your hair with your fingers and wiping the last salty tears from your skin. “So I wanted to try baking something…”

You eye him with a glimmer of amusement in your gaze, and he instantly capitalises on it. “Well there’s your first mistake.”

You playfully wack him, feeling your spirits lift at the sound of his laugh and the sight of his crescent moon-shaped eyes. He really was your light in the dark right now.

“It was going well, actually, but then I heard Ghostie knock something over in my room and I went to check for … not even two seconds.”

Jimin knows that this is where it gets serious, your eyes glaze over again and he can see the recollection of the events flashing through your mind like a reel of film. “I left the baking paper out, and the space was way too messy, I-I definitely should’ve kept it cleaner. I came back and there were some things on fire, but nothing too bad. I just…”

You bend down to rest your face into your hands once more, and Jimin quietly rubs your back in concern. By the looks of it, you were able to put the fire out easily, so what exactly prompted you to break down like that?

You lift your head and keep your shaky hands clamped together by your lips, eyes stricken and weary from the onslaught of emotional stress. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet Jiminie, I would never hide anything from you, so I guess it just never came up. It’s … why I kind of lost the plot after throwing water over the entire kitchen like a lunatic.”

“You can tell me,” he soothes, brows furrowing in distress.

“It’s my parents. How they died….”

His throat tightens with apprehension at the topic, knowing it’s something you definitely avoid talking about whenever it comes up. It was always buried so deep, and Jimin can’t recall ever asking you about the finer details of what you went through.

He feels time slow to a halt as you utter your next words. “They died in a house fire when I was fourteen. Burned to death.”

Oh fuck. Fuck.

It falls into place now, and Jimin snaps out of his daze when he feels your shoulder shudder underneath the palm of his hand. He’s at a loss for words, the sight of how truly upset you are making his heart sink in sorrow.

He scoots over on the couch to hold you close and whisper soft calming words. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. You’re alright, I’m here now.”

You know he has no idea how much it means to you, just hearing those simple words when the anxiety and fear continue to claw at your throat like hellish nails. You’re caught in its grip, the flashing images of flames and the sounds and smells of screeching, burning, crumbling to dust. It surrounds you, and you choke on the tendrils of smoke as if they’re really there, filling your lungs like a heavy sand. It stings, and it’s excruciating.

“Maybe I’d fare a little better … if I’d just stayed somewhere else that night,” you can’t help whimpering out, the memories resurfacing too quickly for you to have control over them.

“You were there?” Jimin reels. Hearing that you’d witnessed your own parent’s death was nothing short of devastating. That was way too much for a young mind to handle, surely. Could the world really be that cruel to one of, if not the most amazing person he’s ever met? He can’t help but cry for you in this moment, trying his best to stay silent as his tears soak into your shirt.

You both stay locked together for another hour or so, Jimin listening intently as you explain the story to him of what happened that night. It’s agonising to relive it, but you know he needs to hear it from you. There’s nowhere else he can hear it from, really.

“Y’know, working in the force meant I had to handle situations like that a few times. It was rare, but it did happen. I’ve seen the faces of the families; I’ve seen the damage it can cause. I just wish you hadn’t been alone, fuck,” he mumbles, hating that he can’t just go back and fix what’s unfixable.

You wave him off. “Jimin, you’ve done more for me tonight than … literally anyone’s ever done for me. Truly, I love you for that.”

His heart leaps in his chest.

“I don’t relapse too often,” you carry on shakily, “it’s just that the sight of a fire that’s out of control just … it just terrifies me so much. I see their faces in the flames.”

It’s so fucking messed up. He feels his entire being shiver in discomfort at the image you’re painting for him, but he only holds you closer. He wants to chase it all away, even though deep down he knows he can’t. All he can do is be here for you, with you when you need it most.

“That’s why I went into vet science,” you say, eyes growing brighter the longer Jimin embraces you. It’s like he’s physically holding you together, and it’s so very safe in his arms. “I had to come to terms with death as a concept, like properly. I wanted to save those who didn’t deserve it just yet, those who deserve to live longer lives just like they did. It’s my life’s purpose.”

Jimin comes to the realisation, right then and there, that he probably loves you.

You are, without a doubt in his mind, the strongest and most remarkable person he’s ever met. He wants to be around you all the time, wants to share your energy, wants to be half as amazing as you are – with every fibre of his being. It’s not like he can just say that though. Not right now, anyway.

He tucks the thought away for another time. A better one.

“What about you? Why did you want to become a police officer?” you ask, snorting once into a tissue to finally rid yourself of the snot and tears.

“Me?” Jimin chuckles. You’re always one to turn it around, never wanting the spotlight for more than needed. He fondly reaches up to run his fingers through your hair, grazing the skin of your cheek along the way and making you smile wistfully.

“Well, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly why. It always comes down to justice, right? We all want to enforce that, protect those that need protecting, and saving lives as well. I’m very similar to you in that sense,” he starts, clearing his throat to lighten the atmosphere with a confident tone. You find yourself snuggling into his side, just longing to hear him talk for hours while you wrap yourself in the warmth of the blanket and his reassuring presence.

“My family left a while back, and my brother was the only one who stayed with me. Both of us had to fend for ourselves, and with me being the eldest, it was easy to fall into that father-figure kind of mould. I wanted to protect what we had, but it was pretty laughable when I was the smaller kid.” Jimin laughs, surprising not only himself, but you with the way he speaks about his past so openly and without any bitterness or animosity.

He was looking at it a different way, and he had you to thank for that.

“So I trained,” he continues. “I trained so hard and spent years proving myself. I came home to our tiny flat every night, prouder than I’d been the night before. And Tae-”

His throat tightens and he has to cut himself off, the syllables of his brother’s name dying on his tongue due to disuse. He hasn’t said it in years, and the feeling his name conjures is strange. There’s the ever-present cold hard hatred building in his chest, but in some wild and wacky way, it’s easier to move past it.

“Taehyung … he was so proud of me too.”

You lift your head from where it rests on Jimin’s chest, moving your hand to envelope his where it resides in his lap. His fingers grasp yours gently, a simple squeeze telling you that he’s alright to keep going. He’s got you so relaxed in his arms that you can almost feel yourself falling asleep, but you know you mustn’t. You have to stay awake for him right now, right when he’s opening up completely.

“Since you shared your story, I figure I have to share mine.” Jimin smiles, the expression not completely reaching his eyes. Both of you have made so much progress tonight, it’s not even funny. He knows that if he doesn’t tell you now, he most likely never will.

“We … fell in love with the same person, me and Tae. It got ugly, and we were super close until the countless fights and yelling matches tore us apart. Even after we both got over this person, we couldn’t stand each-other. We couldn’t make it through one day without a handful of painful jabs being sent back and forth. It was bad, so bad.” He takes a deep breath, and you sit up slightly to hold him closer. The positions were reversed now.

“I needed him, despite all that, I really did. He was the only one left, and I was too proud to just forget everything that’d happened to us. I got offered a place in an exchange program with a group of officers in my force, it was to Europe and it went for no longer than two weeks, but when I got back Tae was…”

“He was gone,” you finish for him when he can’t, raising your hand to wipe the singular tear cascading down his smooth cheek. Jimin sniffs and smiles at you, turning to bury his face into your hair and letting out a large, heavy exhale.

“I sold the flat after many nights of just crying and breaking down,” he mumbles softly into your head. “I still don’t know where he went, but I also didn’t want to exploit my access to citizen information to find out. I think that’s when my passion for the force started to die down, though it took years for me to finally have the guts to leave. Nothing’s fair in this godforsaken world.”

It was a harsh and negative outlook, but you found yourself agreeing to a certain extent. Here you were, the epitome of optimism and ‘bright side’ herself, wanting to watch the world burn for just a second. Just like your family had.

You cringe at your own line of thought. “It’s our job to make it better-”

“Don’t even say it (Y/n), I swear to God,” Jimin warns playfully, cupping you cheeks in both palms and squishing them until your lips open and close like a fish. His eyes sparkle with adoration, and you whine out in protest against his actions before you can get lost in them.

“I’m just saying!”

“Don’t just say! Let me be emo for once you fool.” He tackles you onto the couch, spirits steadily rising from the depressing venture into his memories. Feeling light and as unburdened as a feather, he pins you down and tickles your sides mercilessly.

You miss the warmth of his comforting hugs but can’t help shrieking in laughter as you let it happen. You’re happier seeing him happy anyway.

Before things can escalate further, a disapproving meow interrupts the two of you, and you both whip your heads to the side to see Ghost sitting in the middle of the room. Her tail twitches in annoyance, and her face seems to be screaming ‘are you lumbering idiots done yet?’.

“Wow, a whole mood-killer. Maybe we should clean up the kitchen, actually,” you suggest while trying to catch your breath, grateful for the reprieve. Jimin’s eyes flit back to meet yours, and you catch the dark look he’s giving you. He knows you’re just trying to escape him right now.

“Fine, but don’t go thinking you’re off the hook even for a second.”

Weeks fly by after your emotion-packed, train-wreck of a night. If anything, it only drew you and Jimin closer than ever. You now had another layer to your friendship, another reason to stick together through thick and thin.

Jimin had attended around three hydrotherapy sessions with Mandu, and to your delight, it actually seemed to be working well! The dog would definitely soon be right on track to return to his former glory, minus the slight greying around his muzzle from old age. There only seemed to be one problem though…

Mandu was shit scared of water.

Every single time, the poor canine would whine and yelp for his owner as if he were legitimately dying. You could only watch on in amused silence, pursing your lips to hold back a cackle as your best friend had to bend down at the pool’s edge in order to calm the dog down.

The staff members working at the specialist pool were understanding at least, but that didn’t stop Jimin’s cheeks from flushing with embarrassment every single time.

“Buddy please, you’ve literally chased down killers and jumped over an entire ravine before. Some water won’t kill you!”

It fell on deaf ears, and Mandu howled extra forcefully in defiance. You couldn’t hold back your snort of laughter this time, the scene of the heated argument between dog and owner way too funny to let slide. Jimin throws a betrayed look at you over his shoulder, grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite catch.

In the end, some of the more patient staff members manage to coax the shaky dog into the water, and it’s with great struggle that they finally manage to get him swimming properly. Jimin has to stay within the dog’s line of sight 24/7, even one moment away and Mandu would start thrashing about and yipping in a panic.

You laugh at Jimin the entire time as you stand back to watch, the looks he sends you in return having ‘traitor’ written all over them. If he didn’t have to stay dutifully by the poolside, you’d be in your right mind to believe he’d storm over and kick you into next week for being so bratty.

“You just need to practice. Get him used to it,” you tell him once you’re all leaving the facility, a freshly dried pooch trotting beside you with fur sticking up in all directions. You can’t help but think the dog reminds you of Jimin like this, back when he’d rushed to the clinic in all kinds of disarray.

“Used to it? Did you see him in there!?” Jimin splutters, squatting down to hold Mandu’s face sternly between his palms. The dog remains unbothered as he flashes you a side-eye for assistance.

“Yes I saw. I’m surprised police dogs don’t spend more time training in water, to be honest,” you muse thoughtfully, reaching down to ruffle Mandu’s ears in reassurance. “It’s okay baby boy, you’re not alone,” you coo, smiling when the dog’s tail wags twice in response.

“Baby b…” Jimin trails off, clearing his throat consciously after feeling heat crawl up his neck at the pet-name.

“Anyway, it’s been a few sessions and he hasn’t quite got the hang of it. Why don’t we try spending some time in the water outside of sessions too?” you suggest cheerfully.

“Where? I don’t have a pool.” Jimin cocks an incredulous brow. There’s no way any public pool in these parts would let some random dude and his dog splash around and dirty their space.

You step up and poke Jimin firmly in the chest with one finger. “Did you just never look out the back of my place?”

“You have a pool? What in the hell-”

Jimin’s mouth hangs open in outrage. Even after all this time, he really hadn’t noticed it even once? You had to be fucking with him. “No way.”

“Uhh, yes way? Dude all you had to do was look outside.” You rest your hands on your hips, definitely unimpressed right now but trying your best not to laugh at him too much. He’s already been the butt of all your jokes today. Every single one.

Jimin has to see it for himself to believe it, so the next evening he pulls up to your home with Mandu in the passenger seat. The poor baby is blissfully unaware of the fate that awaits him here, but Jimin only feels the sweet, sweet taste of revenge on his tongue at the notion. After the hell Mandu had put him through these past few weeks, it was time to get payback.

“C’mon boy,” he sniggers. An evil grin stretches across his face and figurative crimson devil horns poke out from his hair.

“How dare you take advantage of him and his inability to be human,” you drawl lazily from the now open front door, and Jimin jumps in his skin from the shock. He hadn’t even made it to the damn porch and you’d already heard him.

“He deserves the slander.”

You shake your head and lead the duo inside, instantly groaning when Ghost and Mandu begin hissing and snarling at each other like their toes have been stepped on. Your fluffy white cat has all her hackles raised in hostility, and the dog in return has his lips drawn back to reveal a row of sharp white fangs.

You’re at your wits end, and similar to the other few instances of Mandu and Ghost meeting, you stomp your foot and stand over the pair as menacingly as you can. “You two are acting like complete animals right now, calm down or you’re going into timeout!”

When the two pets actually shut up, Jimin guffaws with no restraint. You simply huff, as if expecting that your threats would work regardless, and gesture to the glass sliding door adjacent to the kitchen. “It’s out there, are you happy now?”

Jimin cranes his neck and lo and behold, there it is in all its glory. A fucking pool. And to top it all off, it’s even surrounded by a towering black metal fence and gate, as if Jimin didn’t feel stupid enough for not noticing it already.

“So who was wrong and who was right?”

“Shut up.”

The two of you get ready to begin your little ‘home brand’ hydrotherapy session, with Jimin already donning swim trunks in case he has to jump in and intervene at any point. The pool is already much deeper than he’d anticipated, considering the ones at the actual therapy centre were nice and shallow for the dogs in rehab.

You’re dressed in a similar manner, with small tight shorts and a black t-shirt that’s so long it almost hides the fact that you’re wearing pants at all. Jimin has to keep his gaze controlled from raking up the expanse of your bare legs. He wonders if you’d somehow planned to get him all hot and bothered, seeing as it was a warm Spring night that was perfect for taking a dip.

“Okay, well he already seems spooked at the sight of water. You’re going to have to get in,” you say apprehensively, eyeing the way Mandu is already shifting anxiously from paw to paw. You’re all stood beside the shallow end of the pool, the gate fastened shut in case the dog tries to make a break for it suddenly.

Jimin coaxes Mandu forward with soft words of support and praise, taking the steps one at a time. It’s obvious how much the canine is hating this, his ears are pinned flat to his head and his knees are wobbling from the fear. Your heart is shot through with pity for the animal, but he needs to get better at this.

“Here, I’ll help,” you mumble, getting to your feet and stepping into the pool behind the jittery dog. With Jimin pulling him forward by his shoulders, and you urging him onwards from behind, it doesn’t take long for him to start doggy-paddling around. You help Jimin monitor his movements, checking for any signs of discomfort but finding nothing as Mandu works to keep his snout above water.

“I think he’s less nervous because it’s just us,” Jimin comments, a wide smile on his face at seeing his boy paddle around calmly. No frantic thrashing, no barking, no outbreak of chaos as usual.

“Funny that,” you breathe out with a chuckle. The waterline comes up to around your chest at this height, and you shiver as the cool liquid brushes against the underside of your bra. “I can’t go much further, all my underwear’s gonna get wet.”

The innuendo is essentially fresh bait, and you already know you’ve set yourself up nicely just before Jimin chuckles. “Right, why don’t you just go back and take a cold shower then huh?”

“Literally fuck you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get wet?”

You gape at his bold humour, not used to the suggestive way he’s eyeing you as he leads his innocent dog around in the pool. If you were being honest, the ideas he’s putting into your head are absolutely sinful to say the least.

“What if I do?” you scoff, and two seconds later you’re plunging deeper into the refreshing coolness of the water before Jimin can even clap back with something lewder. You’re completely submerged, and for some reason Mandu begins to panic slightly when you vanish from sight.

“Woah, it’s okay she’s not drowning,” Jimin hushes in a serious tone, making sure to support the dog’s body with both arms as the animal treads through the water with powerful kicks of his hind legs. You resurface further down, hair now completely wet and sticking to your head uncomfortably.

“Hey, he got scared for you just then,” Jimin calls out. You feel a tug on your heartstrings and swim back down to the shallower part of the pool.

“Aw, Mandu was worried for me? What happened to hating my guts for stealing Jimin?”

Jimin gives you a weird look at that. “Stealing me? Jesus, do I just exist to be passed around by you guys?”

“Maybe.” You giggle. Something about the assertive way you act has Jimin feeling hot all over, and he’s reminded yet again that it’s a quality of yours he’s come to find madly attractive.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that your basically halfway naked not even a metre away from him. He can’t even focus on the task at hand when he gets a full view of your soaked t-shirt, and how the outlines of your rounded chest are now completely visible to his watchful eyes.

He can’t help but gulp at the thoughts running through his mind. “Hey, how long has it been now? Think that’s about one session’s worth for today.”

“Right, it probably is. Good progress! I might stay out here for a bit though, it’s super hot and my air conditioner basically cracked the shits last night.”

Jimin climbs out of the pool, the hem of his shirt soaked but luckily everything above that dry as a bone. He grabs a towel and dries Mandu off, whispering praises of how well he did to swim properly today. Once he’s done, he opens the gate and lets the dog out to run around your somewhat spacious backyard. Jimin has to look away in disdain, because he knows it won’t be long before his buddy starts rolling around and making himself filthy again.

Jimin returns his gaze back to you, and he stifles a laugh when he sees you randomly floating on your back in the middle of the pool, limbs splayed out like a starfish. You look dead to the world, but honestly, he can’t blame you. It is rather hot for a Spring night.

He barely even thinks about his actions before he’s peeling the shirt from his back. His honey blonde hair becomes tousled from the movement, and he throws away the piece of clothing without batting an eyelid.

As for you, well, now you’re stressed.

Sure, you knew he was an ex-police officer. You knew he worked out daily and took care of himself unbelievably well. Sure, you were happy to just close your eyes and pretend like you weren’t ogling the heck out of him right now, but it just wasn’t happening.

He was absolutely beautiful; you could even say carved from marble and it wouldn’t be much of a stretch. It was difficult not to gawk at the smooth way his muscled arms and shoulders tapered down into a gracefully cinched waist, not to mention the nice set of washboard abs and delicious V-line that has your mouth very nearly watering. You remind yourself to ask him later what the large ‘Nevermind’ tattoo stretching along his ribcage means.

“Wow, you could have some shame.” He flashes you that shit-eating grin, but frankly, you’re just ecstatic that he seems to be so confident in his own skin. Once upon a time throughout your friendship, he would have never been this comfortable around you.

“What, am I not allowed to appreciate what you’re showing me? You could’ve easily just left the shirt on,” you complain loudly, rolling over to lay face down in the water in hopes that it would douse the heating of your rapidly burning cheeks. With your eyes and ears underwater, you only feel the ripples hit your skin as he jumps in to join you.

You lift your head and gasp for air, catching sight of him swimming towards you rapidly. “Wait, what are you doing!?” You barely get to shout before he’s picking you up and throwing you back down into the water with a tremendous splash, loud laughter booming from his chest as you scream and struggle in his grip.

“Jimin I swear-”

You cut yourself off by sweeping a massive wave of water in his direction with both arms, grinning wickedly as it smacks him straight in the face. He wipes at his eyes and shakes his head, much like a dog would, and you vaguely register Mandu’s barks of excitement from somewhere out in the yard.

“I’m getting you back for that,” Jimin grunts, and you feel your stomach squirm as he starts moving towards you again.

“No, no, no! Okay I’ll be good, leave me please!”

Your pleas are left unheard as you try to escape from his grasp, but he’s too quick and too strong to evade. Your legs kick up into the air helplessly as he dunks you again, and once you finally resurface, he’s already got you in his hold. “Stop, I can’t compete with you, you beefcake.” You purse your lips and blow a raspberry of pool spittle into his face, struggling within his arms in fear that he would start throwing you again, or even worse … tickle you.

Your loud wails and shrieks of laughter had filled the air for the past ten minutes or so, but you were obviously weaker than he was, and you both knew you were going to tire out much faster. So, to your pleasant surprise, he stops teasing you and simply holds you by the waist, high enough that your entire head and neck are above water.

“You’re absolutely ruthless,” you grumble, bringing your hands up to rest on his bare biceps for support. You marvel at the way the lean muscles flex underneath your fingers as he shifts you to be more comfortable.

It’s so very hot, and you can’t help but notice the heat licking at your abdomen the longer you stay locked in this position. Your legs wrapped around his torso, and his face is just above the line of your soaked chest. You just thank God you hadn’t chosen to wear a white shirt at this point.

“Yeah, well you’re just fun to mess with,” he finally responds after a few moments of slowly floating around the pool’s edge. You smile warmly down at him and use both your hands to comb back his dripping hair with your deft fingers. Once again, you’re stunned into silence at how attractive he truly is. Especially when he looks at you like that.

Wait, why is he looking at you like that?

His handsome eyes are dark, and lidded. He’s smirking at you just as he always does, but this time there’s something different. The air around you changes. It feels … charged.

He’s not done, shockingly, and he continues to back you up until you feel the edge of the pool press into your back ever so slightly. He then lets you down to stand on your own two feet now that it’s shallow, your toes brush the pool tiles suddenly and the feeling elicits a small jump of surprise.

He’s closer than he’s ever been, and you feel your breath hitch at the feeling of his bare chest brushing against the material of your saturated bra. His hands come up to trace the line of your waist again, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Jimin,” you sigh, looking up at him through your lashes. Your hands have a mind of their own at this point, and they find themselves tracing the lines of his dripping arm muscles once more. His eyes are staring into your own, burning with a heat and a desire you know all too well.

He wants you, right now.

You immediately cave in, feeling your thighs squeeze together as he descends upon your lips. The kiss is somewhere in between sensual and ravenous, with both your lips parting almost simultaneously in pleasant surprise. He lifts one hand from your hips to tangle into the wet hair at the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him as he melds his lips together with yours.

God, you’ve pined after him for so long that you somehow forgot what the feeling was called. You moan softly into the kiss and feel his lips quirk into a smile. He immediately knows just how badly you’d been craving this, and honestly, he’s been thinking about the exact same thing for months now. You both just needed some kind of hot situation to force you together, to give you the confidence to finally take the chance.

“You don’t know how long I’ve just wanted to have you like this,” Jimin says in a low voice, pulling back to catch his breath and rest his forehead upon yours for a moment. Your heart is going absolutely crazy in your chest, and you bring both your hands up to cup his face gently.

“I’ve wanted you since we met in that damn park, can you beat that?” You hum sweetly.

His eyes widen immensely, but then soften in a warm realisation. “Okay, I think you got me there. It’s been a couple of months though. Wow, the park? Really?”

You nod, and he lifts his hand to cover yours over his cheek. His eyes are swimming with a love so deep and profound, you just want to kiss him silly. “Yeah, I mean I don’t think I fully realised it until later on. I was happy to just keep that crazy good friendship of ours, but then I knew all along I was in deep,” you say candidly.

Jimin kisses you again long and hard. “Shit, I think I’m gonna say it. I love you. God I love you so, so much.”

You could almost cry at the heartfelt confession. His smile is blindingly bright, and his eyes are positively gleaming with happiness. You realise then that they weren’t tired anymore. Perhaps they hadn’t been for a while now.

“You saved me, (Y/n). You literally brought me out of a dark place I never thought I’d get to leave.”

“Stop you’re going to make me...”

‘I’m serious,” he murmurs, lifting your face with his thumb and forefinger to catch your overwhelmed expression.

You peck his cute little nose. “I know you are, and the same goes for you! You were always there when I needed you, Jim. I love you so fucking much, it hurts.”

He laughs airily, chest feeling light and fit to burst from your requited affections. He can’t believe that for once, this cruel world had decided to give him something nice for a change. He was … actually allowed to keep you?

At the same time, you’re positively brimming with relief and pure bliss. You jerk forward and catch him in a needy kiss mid-laugh, silencing all your nerves and disbelief as he returns it passionately. You squeak in surprise when he lifts your body – with ease, you might add, thanks to his physique – to sit up on the edge of the pool.

He continues to trail his lips along your skin as you hold him tight, and you love the way he handles you so carefully as if you’ll break in his palms if he’s somehow too rough. You simply can’t wait to see his face when you tell him you like it that way.

As he moves to your neck, you snake your arms around him and drag your nails down his back sensually, needing to feel him against you to prove that this is happening, that this is real and not some kind of dream.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans, nibbling at the juncture of your neck and sucking harshly at the skin there. The contrast of the cool droplets of water clinging to your body as they meet his hot languid tongue has you shivering all over.

You can’t get enough of his lips, and you’re all but suddenly finding out just how skilled he actually is with his mouth. Tiny lustful whimpers fall freely from your throat as his hands move from your neck down to your breasts, and when he begins to brush his fingertips over your nipples through the shirt and bra with a broken groan, you just about lose it.

“Jimin, I want to feel you,” you choke out, pulling him as close as the edge of the pool will allow. Thankfully, it’s shallow enough on his end that he can still reach up to your face, and you instantly take advantage of your height boost to wrap your legs around his body.

You tilt his chin upwards towards you with one finger and part your lips, instantly feeling his tongue slide fervently past them into your mouth. It’s such a forward and sultry manoeuvre that you lose yourself in the pure unadulterated heat of the moment. God, you’ve never been so turned on in your life.

His hands, which had fallen to brace himself on the concrete tiles on either side of your hips, now find purchase on your bare dripping wet thighs. You can’t suppress a shudder when he digs his fingers into those too, tracing circles with his thumbs to let you know where he’s going with this.

You pull away from his irresistible lips with a gasp. “What are you..?”

He smirks, mouth all swollen from your teeth and tongue, eyes pinning you down with a dark gaze full of salacious longing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything hotter, until he growls, “I wanna take you right here, right now,” with a lick of his lips and downward glance of his eyes.

You’re left speechless, and before you can muster up anything to say in response, he’s hooking his arms underneath your knees and parting your shaky thighs slowly. He angles you closer to the edge of the pool, and you want nothing more than to just be under him. “Oh God. Jimin we should go inside.”

He looks like he’s about to argue, but then a flurry of wild barking and panting causes both of you to whip your heads around. There stands the source of the noise in question, all covered in grass and weeds from romping around your yard, and it bounds incessantly around the towering pool fence.

He’s watching you both excitedly and demands your undivided attention with another yap. If you had to take a wild guess as to what the dog wanted, it would be that he wishes to join in with his family’s little ‘wrestling’ match rather than being locked outside in the lonely backyard. You and Jimin exchange a look.

“Yeah, not in front of Mandu.”

“Never in front of him.”

You both grab your towels and scamper inside like two horny teenagers, very naked and afraid, but still laughing the entire way at your predicament.

Safely within your walls and locked away from the innocence of animals, you pick up where you left off beside the pool. The haphazardly tossed pieces of wet clothing and damp footprints throughout the house are soon forgotten when Jimin gets you in between your sheets. It doesn’t take long for him to have you screaming his name well into the night, and you’re sure that by the end of it, his lips and tongue have touched almost every inch of your body.

That’s not to say you didn’t have a fair go at him too, because when you wake in the morning to turn and see your hickeys scattered across his bare neck and stomach, you swear you’ve never felt more satisfied in your life. Yes, he’d proven himself to be quite a little switch in the making, and you feel positively giddy at the prospect of getting so much more time with him to find out exactly where that might lead.

He was yours and you were his. Together, you had something truly marvellous.

He turns his head with a grunt and catches you admiring his sleeping form. The resulting dazzling smile that splits his face leaves you positively breathless, just as every other aspect about him does.

“Morning,” you both mumble at the same time, and while you scrunch your face up in an endeared cringe, Jimin just laughs sweetly at the clumsiness between you. He moves over to plant the softest of kisses to your forehead, and you cuddle into his side like it’s your designated space to reside until the end of time.

In lieu of the family-shaped hole you’d been carrying with you your whole life, there now appeared a Jimin-shaped puzzle piece slotting into place.

And with that, you could ask for nothing more.

Somewhere in the distant night, a young man taps his finger on the steering wheel of his car as he speeds along the eerily quiet highway.

The late hour does nothing to deter him, and he fights back the drowsiness threatening to pull him under as the road falls away beneath the tyres. He’s been driving for hours, but he persists without rest and soldiers on, full of purpose. Every time he feels a shred of doubt begin to linger in his mind, he glances over to the wrinkled photo resting on his dashboard and the initial burst of vigour returns.

He runs a hand through his long, curly black hair and eyes the photo again. The smiling faces look back at him, and he immediately wonders for the millionth time if he truly is doing the right thing here. The turn-off sign whizzes by his car window, and he realises that now is his last chance to change his mind.

He can keep living a peaceful life if he just continues straight past without looking back, but there’s no way he can do that. He can’t fail his only remaining family any longer.

He veers for the turn-off, taking a deep breath and reaching forward to brush a finger against one of the smiling faces in the roughly crinkled photo. It’s final, he’s made his decision.

I’m coming home.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

TO BE CONTINUED

#jimin x reader #jimin angst #jimin smut #bgwdynamitedads #btsghostie #jimin fluff #jimin scenarios #jimin imagines #bts smut #bts angst #jimin fanfic #BTS jimin #bts fluff #bts fanfic #policeman jimin #s2l au #heavy angst #shy jimin #saladejin

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

Text

shallow or deep

— “Why would you want a guy with such a large and disgusting burn?” he whispered, his tone thoroughly rejected, broken. It was then that it hit you: did he think he wasn't good enough for you. —

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pairing: todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: fluff, angst (insecurities), cursing

word count: 2,544

a/n: I took the shouto has an insecurity over his scar even if it isnt that deep headcanon and ran with it, I hope yall enjoy this!!!! its been awhile since ive managed to write a fic in a single day!!!

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“You’re quite the handsome man!”

“Oh, thank you.”

“But that scar... don’t you want to get that fixed? I know someone with a quirk who can fix that up for you!”

“Thank you for your concern, but I think I am content with it.”

“Without a doubt, you are by far one of the most attractive Pro Heroes to have existed!”

“Thank you for your compliment, but I think it’s my ability to—”

“Don’t you think you would look hotter without your scar? Have you ever considered getting it removed?”

“...no, I haven’t…”

“Just imagine how Shouto would look like without his scar, here are some edited pictures for reference!”

“Wow, if I didn’t want to give him my life already, I would sell my soul to the devil to get with a scarless Shouto…”

“I don’t know, I think the scars sexy! Like look at it, it makes him so mysterious and badass! Guys with scars are so fucking hot! But in my opinion, without the scar? Shouto isn’t shit!”

“Guys with scars are hot, I’ll give you that, but not one-fourth of the face scars! He’s extremely handsome still, but it’s a bit tacky for the scar to be there. If it had been like Deku’s arm and hand scars — hell, even Eraserheads face scar — he would be so much finer.”

“And just how did you get your scar, Shouto?”

The American interviewer who sat in front of Shouto during this live national interview had the kindest smile on her face, but to the Pro Heroes who sat on the stage alongside Shouto could recognize that shark-like glint in her eyes. Her face was calm, tranquil, beautiful, but her eyes sent bitter acid through the Heroes mouth.

“I’ve already explained what happened in a previous interview,” Shouto spoke calmly, his fingers digging into his knees.

Your eyes looked over to your boyfriend, who seemed to be trying everything in his power to remain calm. You’d only seen this happen through a screen, never in real life.

The interviewer seemed unconcerned with his rebuttal, most likely expecting this from the man who wasn’t one for repeating big stories. Her chin tilted up almost like she was looking down on him, looking down on who he was.

“Well then, I’ll bite,” she leaned forward, and you felt on edge to attack, but a hand gripped your wrist when a cruel smirk spread on her face. “Do you resent your mother for burning you that night? How do you feel about the fact that it was your mother who ruined your charming looks?”

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The car was silent.

Your eyes tried to remain focused on the road ahead of you, but to your misplaced anger and hurt, you focused on the side of Shouto’s face every so often while he drove.

The radio wasn’t even on, something the both of you enjoyed blasting because you would sing stupidly loud and Shouto would hum along in his own mirth. The only sound heard was the tires driving against the gravel road and your irritated breathing.

The two of you had dropped off your friends five minutes ago, the once awkwardly tense car melting to this angry silence between the two of you in the front.

You hadn’t defended him on live television because Momo held you back, and Shouto allowed the interviewer to defile his family’s past abuse with her keen touch. The silence between the two of you was also irritating you.

Once the interview was done, Shouto had been the first to rise from his chair and to leave. And you were hot on his heels. You hadn’t been forgiving to Shouto when you finally corned him.

“How could you let her talk to you like that, Shouto?” you blazoned, your heart hammering in your chest, anger, humiliation, and sorrow riling you up. “She was a total fucking cunt, and you just took it!”

Shouto stared down at you, that old yet familiar distant look in his eyes — that anger that burned brighter than any fire he could produce flaming in both eyes.

“Drop it, y/n,” he all but hissed, his face stone, his tone fierce. “You don’t need to fight every single fucking thing that makes me uncomfortable.”

Those words weren’t enough to make you drop it, had it been any other fight you would have continued to press him for what was wrong with him, but it was that look in his eyes. The old look that you had sworn long ago you’d never allow to meet his eyes again.

The anger, humiliation, and broken look that he used to wear every day.

When Shouto finally parked, he didn’t hesitate to get out of the car, the door slamming loudly while you stumbled to follow after him.

But he was tall, too tall, and was in the house well before you could close your own door. It didn’t deter the way that you stormed towards the house, the devil, and god riding on your shoulder in this battle to figure out what the hell was wrong with Shouto.

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“I don’t resent my mother,” Shouto cooly stated. “It was an unfortunate accident, but fortunately, it hasn’t kept me from anything. I still have complete sight and functionality, so I’m okay. I could never resent my mother.”

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“Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” you ask, coming into the house.

This was Shouto’s house, something that Endeavor had gifted to him in his expression of apology. He and his siblings had been given their own homes the moment they turned twenty, and shortly after starting your relationship, he had asked you to move in.

You both were now twenty-three. You were neither each other's firsts on many levels, but there was no denying that this was the best relationship the both of you had. You comforted each other to no level, loved each other like no other. It was almost a shame that you didn’t have any feelings for your old classmate during high school because maybe then you’d been together for longer than a year.

But nevertheless, the two of you held no regrets. His house had become yours with him.

It was a bright place, no matter how dull the day was, it was always vivacious and warm in here.

But not now.

The door closed behind you, and you saw Shouto standing at the kitchen table, head lowered, arms tense. The world seemed grey, dull, and cold. You almost swore the house’s temperature was ten degrees cooler while you approached your boyfriend, who appeared to be trapped in his thoughts.

You neared him, your own anger diminishing slowly when you saw the shadows over his eyes, his teeth gnashing in a grit.

Sorrow, humiliation, guilt.

That’s all you could read from him, but you needed more from him.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

The interviewer seems to have expected that answer for she remains unfazed, but that predatorial glint in her eyes remains. The eyes of someone who hasn’t shown off their strongest of cards.

“How about relationship-wise? Have any of the beautiful ladies you’ve dated or have wanted to court in the past told you that you’d be much more handsome without it? Don’t you wish that you could be more normal for y/h/n?”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“Why would you want a guy with such a large and disgusting burn?” he whispered, his tone thoroughly rejected, broken. It was then that it hit you: did he think he wasn't good enough for you.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

You stood up, the chair you were sitting on scraping loudly against the black floor. The interviewer snapped her attention on you for just a moment, eyes sparkling with the thrill of getting a dramatic reaction from someone.

But Momo and Uraraka held you down, and Sero’s tape came across your mouth to keep you from talking your mind.

“There have been words like that before,” Shouto says, his voice steely smooth. “But as you can see, I’m not dating anyone who shares those same opinions.”

The interviewer seemed to deflate at that answer, obviously not the juicy breakdown she was hoping for. She continued down the mass interview with the most successful class from UA’s hero program, and you continued to fume in your seat. Anger that couldn’t even be quieted by the sour emotions coming off of Shouto in large waves.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“W-What?” you say almost in a horrified whisper.

Your eyes were wide, unsure if you had heard Shouto correctly. You prayed you had. A fist clenched on your chest, your gaze followed Shouto’s clouded face when he stood up completely.

“You heard me right,” he repeats, his focus on the wall. Finally, his blue and grey eyes focus on you; they’re distant, so far away, you weren’t sure if you could get him back anytime soon. A soft sigh ragged in his chest, nearly choking in his throat when he looked at you. “I was never insecure about my scar growing up… I didn’t have anything in sight except for wanting to be a hero, and hell, even through high school, it didn’t matter. No one in our class mentioned it, and I went on to believe that it while it wasn’t normal, it was in some way.” His hands found your cheeks, pressing onto them gently, and you could feel them tremble slightly. “Then I finally liked someone romantically, and we were thrust into the crazy world of media, and I realized that my burn isn’t normal.”

“S-Shouto…”

“The first person I ever dated told me they knew someone who would fix it up for me for free. The second person… well, they were an idiot and thought if we had children, the burn would be transferred over. More and more people both privately and publicly told me that I would be s-so much better without it… Do you think I’d be better without it?” his lips twisted, and you could only stare up in his eyes that seemed so far away so broken. “Even the ones who liked it, it was some weird fetish of theirs… the truth is, I don’t know how to feel about it. I shouldn’t hate it because it’s who I am, but I hate it because people always have some opinion about it, and no matter what I hear, it always pisses me off. I just… you’re beautiful, y/n. You’re the person in my life that I never want to see leave, and I know that it’s shallow to value people only for their beauty, but I’m not beautiful. Scars and burns are not beautiful, they’re ugly... My looks are decent at best, but that’s all that makes me desirable. Not you, though. You’re gorgeous, your personality and attitude never fail to make everyone feel better, and yet you’re here with me… why would you love someone like me?”

There it was.

His eyes kept to your feet as if he wasn’t worthy of staring you in the face. His hands continue to hold against you in a weak grasp, as if he pressed any harder against you, you would crumble to dust or say you hated him.

Your hands grasped his wrists, pressing his hands even more against your skin. It was an intense action, so out of the blue that his eyes snapped up to meet yours finally.

Shouto wasn’t sure what to expect when he looked at your face; he knew you were upset about the interview, and truthfully he wished he hadn’t warned Uraraka, Momo, and Sero to keep you down when those questions were asked — should they have been proposed. He also expected tears, you were always one to be more emotional than he was.

What he didn’t expect were steely yet warm eyes.

“You’re an idiot, Todoroki Shouto,” you finally speak. You took a step closer to him, your heartbeat in your throat. This was a raw Shouto standing before you. A Shouto, you had no idea how he reacted, no matter how much you knew him. So, if this was a rebuilding scene, a moment to get him to see what you saw, you would take it. “You’re right, scars and burns are ugly. They shouldn’t be romanticized. It’s also not the same as others, who take scars as a sign of overcoming hardships and victory. Your scar is one of a kind… but like you’ve said, shallow traits aren’t enough…” Your chin trembled just the slightest bit, but you couldn’t let yourself cry. No, you had to be strong for him. “You’re the kindest person I know, which knowing the saint that is Midoriya and All Might, it means a lot. I don’t mean it because you’re my boyfriend, or because I want you to feel better, but you had every reason to not be kind in your life and look at you, you’re gentle, you’re sweet. You also speak your mind, no matter what. Your opinions are valuable, and that’s why you’re such a great leader. You were made to become a hero that surpassed All Might, and you did it without ever once going down the road your father had intended for you. You did that. But if we’re going to be looking at the shallow traits, we can do that.

Your scar is a sign of growth. It’s ugly, and it’s beautiful. It’s ugly because it makes you feel like you’re not good for me. It’s ugly because it was such a dark time for you when it came. It’s ugly because it’s an insecurity. But I also see beauty. It’s beautiful because it’s another place I can tenderly love at night. It’s beautiful because who you were back then is just a scar of who you were. It’s beautiful because it’s a source of your strength despite it all. You can think whatever you want of it, Shouto, think it’s good or bad, but because it’s apart of you I have to and I choose to love it. Why would I ever want you to change who you are if you’re comfortable with it? What kind of lover would I be if I decided to love everything but one part of you?” your fingers trailed to his scarred skin, the red skin forever warm under your touch. “Shallow or deep, I will never stop loving you.”

Tears fell from his eyes, and his lips crashed against yours.

The two of you sink to the floor in this wet and sweet embrace. Lips never tearing from each other, fingers wistfully holding on, a silent prayer to each other of your devotions, and hope to never leave each other’s sides. Your fingers continued to stroke against his scar, and he held you so close until you could no longer kiss.

So your wet and bruised lips pressed against his warm scar, gentle and soft reminders that you were there for him until his faint cries became steady breathing.

Todoroki Shouto may never get over the insecurity of his scar, but he’d be damned if he thought for a second whether it was there or not, you’d love him any more or any less. You loved him entirely, and for that, he was forever grateful.

#todoroki shouto #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha x reader

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weirdponytail · 4 years

Note

When does Eragon discover that Brom’s his father?

“He said that Morzan is my father.”

Nasuada stared with her lips parted, hanging on the edge of saying something but seeming unable to decide what would be the best response.

For once, Eragon just wanted his cousin to stay quiet as he turned his gaze to Arya, trying to gauge her reaction. He didn’t know what he wanted to see. Disgust? Pity? Sympathy?

Her eyes were wide and a mix of gobsmacked surprise and...was that apprehension?...colored her expression.

But Arya wasn’t looking at him.

The elf was looking at Brom.

And the tent exploded into noise once again.

“HE SAID WHAT?!”

“You’re MY son, dammit!”

Eragon’s hammering heart juddered to a stop.

“You’ve always been my son.”

Eragon bowed. He hoped that the stiffness of his stance hid the trembling of his limbs.

“If you’ll excuse us for a moment.”

With that he grabbed Brom by the shoulder of his armored coat and dragged him out of the tent, leaving a stumbled trail of burnt and broken soil crust in their wake.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“That was wrong of me.” Brom bowed his head. “I shouldn’t have burdened you with this, Saphira, especially under such oaths. I...I wanted at least someone to be able to tell Eragon if I–” He stopped. “I’m sorry.”

He exploded.

He realized, then, that Brom’s was shaking as he tightened his grip on his son. Hot tears splashed on the shoulders of his armor, beading up on the aramid polymer.

“Stars above, I’ve never been ashamed of you.” Brom shuddered in a gasp, then let words pent up for years pour out of him. “You’ve always been my son, Eragon. I was so afraid that...that I would lose you too. I don’t know a thing about being a father, and after all that I’ve done and all I lost I just...I couldn’t. I couldn’t let that touch you.

“I wanted more than anything to tell you. I was just too damn scared. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I can do to make up for the past, but–”

Brom froze.

Eragon settled his arms around his father, and hugged him back.

#modern inheritance #modern inheritance cycle #inheritance cycle #eragon #modern inheritance story #brom #mic ask #mic asks #mic fills #mic story #brom is a softie we all know it #and yes he doesn't believe in his uber dad skillz #eragon bromsson

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pokeasleepingsmaug · 3 years

Text

Agrotera

Based off this post . I also started a companion piece to it about Apollo doing music therapy with the girls and his redemption arc for all his problematic rapey actions in the past, so I can post that too if you’re interested.

Artemis doesn’t quite remember when Apollo traded his golden bow for something smaller, sleeker, easier to conceal and faster to fire, but she’ll never get used to the gleam of the pistol at his hip, and she’ll never relinquish her prized silver bow. She worked too hard to perfect her skill with it over the long millenia, brought down too many enemies with it, and cried out in a hunter’s triumph when her arrows struck true. She still uses the hand-draw technique like the archers of old, eschews the use of a quiver because they’re clumsy and slow her down when she’s in pursuit. Easier to hold her arrows in the hand that holds the bowstring.

Archery is an art that’s been lost over time to cheap trick-shots and Hollywood inaccuracies. But she’s a goddess and a huntress, and the tense snap of a bowstring sounds like poetry as she sends an arrow singing through the air. Maybe Apollo’s right and she has a dramatic flair, but she thinks that’s pretty rich coming from the guy who shot plague-arrows into half the Greek army during the final year of the Trojan War. If she ignores the fact that she once ripped a man to shreds with his own hounds, she can believe that Apollo is, in fact, the more dramatic twin.

The drama queen in question leans against the wrought-iron rail of their third-story apartment’s balcony, pistol gleaming at his hip as he takes another drag from his cigarette. “You can’t save them all, Art,” he tells her on an exhale, and she wrinkles her nose and waves the smoke away. She isn’t worried about the health risks, sometimes even wishes she could die, but the smell is another matter entirely.

“I could if you helped me,” she tells him, an edge of steel in her voice, and he sighs and rolls his jaw.

“Fine. The next time you hunt.”

She’s spent centuries with Apollo and knows when he’s only giving in because he’s tired of arguing, but she’ll take the win because she can’t stand to lose. “You have to take your bow.”

Apollo looks at her with one perfect eyebrow raised. She nods. “I was going to take it anyway,” he snaps. She doesn’t bother to hide her grin. He stubs his cigarette out against the railing and shoves past her through the sliding glass door, muttering as he stalks down the hallway to his room. They have rooms more as a matter of principle, since neither of them need to sleep. Both of them choose to, sometimes. It breaks up some of the tedium of immortality.

Artemis takes her twin’s spot at the railing, looks pensively at the sun rising above the city skyline. It seems distant today, the pinks and oranges less vibrant than normal. Apollo does this sometimes to show his annoyance, and still has the nerve to accuse her of being dramatic? He practically invented the concept.

…

Artemis has always been most comfortable in the dark, but it’s been decades--or has it been centuries?--since the goddess of night skies and deep woods danced in moonlight filtering through leaves. City streets are her haunt now, hunting monsters of a different kind in the glow of street lamps and neon signs that dull the once-magnificent night sky into something mundane.

She misses the time when mortals thought there was magic in the night and in the forest, when they used to pour unwatered wine and sing hymns to her, full of awe and fear. She was powerful once, adored. She isn’t either of those things anymore, but somehow she feels stronger than ever. More purposeful.

She’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, faintly gleaming silver bow and a pile of pale ash arrows resting on the floor at her feet. “Apollo,” she calls, half-annoyed. “We’re hunting for prey, not lovers.”

“I can’t find my bow.” His voice carries, muffled, from inside the apartment.

“It’s in the hall closet, hanging on the wall. Right next to the door.”

“I’m looking in the hall closet!”

“Apollo. Your bow is bright gold. It glows, for Christ’s sake,” Artemis mutters. She paces down the hall, about to show Apollo exactly where his bow is, when he emerges from the closet with a triumphant shout.

“I’ll tell Zeus you said that. Hey, can I borrow some arrows?”

“Oh my God,” Artemis groans, wondering if he just loves to torture her. “How are you even alive?”

“Probably because I’m immortal. So, arrows?”

“Fine. They’re more for show, anyway.” She stoops to scoop up her bow and a handful of arrows, leaving about half for Apollo.

“For show?” He questions, letting his eyes rove over his twin. She’s dressed all in black: black skinny jeans that hug her athletic legs and a black tank top beneath an unzipped black leather jacket. Her revealed skin is pale and gleams faintly silver, thick black eyeliner ringing her eyes, her lips the color of fresh blood. She reminds him of a panther in the breathless moment before a pounce.

“Also, you can’t wear that. All black everything.” Artemis glares scornfully at his yellow t-shirt.

“I don’t own anything black,” Apollo tells her matter-of-factly, smiling at her shocked face. “I’m a sun god, Art, not some weird emo moon goddess.”

“I wouldn’t say that around Selene.”

“Selene loves me.”

“Selene tolerates you,” Artemis informs him, ignoring the offended noise he makes. She decides to let Apollo’s questionable wardrobe choices slide this time. She supposes he looks intimidating enough to accompany her, with his artfully messy hair, bright blue eyes, and the faint golden glow of his skin. At the very least he looks not quite human, and that’s probably the best she’ll get from him. Maybe they can do a good cop, bad cop routine or something. They’ve been doing that for centuries anyway, they’ve pretty much perfected it. She whistles once, a short, sharp burst, and her black-and-tan hound rockets off the couch. She reaches an affectionate hand down to scratch his long velvet ears.

“Do we have to take him? He’s not, you know, inconspicuous.”

“Aristo has been with me on every hunt since Pan gave him to me!” Artemis scoffs, more offended than ever. The old satyr gave her six dogs and seven bitches back when the world was still new. She still has the entire pack, but Aristo is the only one who comes into the city with her.

“Where are the rest?” Apollo asks absently as he locks the door behind him.

“With Hecate.”

The twin gods head out into the city, walking down the sidewalk like any ordinary mortals might, and turn toward the college campus. Frat houses are usually a good hunting spot. Artemis pauses to smile up at the moon. Selene has it shining its very brightest for her tonight, a hunter’s moon perfectly round and low in the sky. Aristo trots happily at her side, Apollo has been quiet for probably three whole minutes, and she dares to hope, briefly, that she won’t need to hunt tonight.

Apollo grins as they turn down a street, following a stream of girls in tight dresses hobbling in too-tall heels, and Artemis smacks his arm hard enough to earn a disgruntled yelp. “You’re disgusting.”

“I look at guys the same way,” he reminds her with a shrug.

“That doesn’t make it better,” she snaps, beginning to regret bringing him along, but the thought is interrupted by Aristo whining low and urgent in his throat. He bays, giving voice to his full-throated hunting song, and she follows the hound as he tears across the frat house lawn, partygoers stumbling out of his way. Artemis runs after him like she’s just an ordinary girl chasing her escaped dog.

Apollo curses behind her as he starts running. Aristo waits for them at the front door of the house, still singing, and his claws leave deep gouges in the dark wood as he paws insistently at the door. Artemis shoves it open and follows him immediately up the stairs. He reaches the landing and skids around a corner, baying as he stops in front of a closed door.

It’s locked but Artemis kicks it open with a crack of hinges sudden as a lightning strike. What good is a door against a god? She sees the boy first, the harsh moonlight streaming through the open window turning his eyes to black pits and deepening the shadows under his cheekbones. He reminds her for an instant of the type of monster she hunted in days long gone. He’s frozen in place as the door bangs against the wall, so stunned he doesn’t even notice the seventy pound dog hurtling toward him until Aristo hits him like a howling torpedo. His arms windmill as he topples out of sight.

Artemis walks around the bed, lazy and graceful, following the sound of yelling and growling, of sharp gnashing teeth waiting for her command to sink into frail mortal flesh. She finds Aristo pinning the thrashing boy to the carpeted floor with his front paws on his shoulders. “Call off your dog! Please! Get him off me!” The voice is high and hysterical with mortal fear, and Artemis smiles down at him indulgently.

“I am Artemis Agrotera, and I will deal with you another time.” She calls Aristo off with a sharp whistle. The boy scrambles to his feet, crashing back to the floor as his shoulder collides with Apollo’s thighs. Apollo reaches down and draws him up by the arm, smiling with a menace that can’t quite match his twin’s.

“We’ll be seeing you,” he promises silkily, gives the arm a gentle squeeze, and stands aside to let the trembling criminal pass. Artemis sinks down on the edge of the rumpled bed, wipes tears from the girl’s cheeks with her thumb, and drapes her black jacket over the bare, shaking shoulders. The girl sobs and pulls the jacket tighter. Artemis makes a shushing noise in her throat and stands, scooping her up bridal-style like she weighs nothing at all.

The girl hides her face against the goddess’s chest as they leave the house. Fear and guilt war in her, eating her alive with teeth that slice like knives because she knows what will happen. The police will ask her how much she drank and what she was wearing and if she was flirting with him, if she’d given him any indication that maybe she wanted this. The thought turns her stomach, but they’re outside in the cool night air and the moon is so bright it seems to shine just for her.

Artemis looks down at the girl in her arms, and her heart breaks into a thousand pieces for the first time that night. “I’m taking you to someone who can help.” The walk back to the apartment building is about ten minutes, but the silence and the shaking girl make it seem like eternities. When they arrive, Artemis fumbles her car keys from the pocket of her black skinny jeans and hits the unlock button. “Do you want to sit in the front with me, or in the back with the dog?”

The girl’s wide brown eyes flit between Artemis’s perfect moon-pale face and Aristo’s floppy ears and kind brown eyes. “The dog, please.”

“His name is Aristo.” Artemis says, setting the girl on her feet and opening the back door for her. Aristo leaps in, tail wagging, and the mortal girl slides into the seat beside him. “He loves hugs.”

“Aristo,” the girl murmurs, burying her face in his neck with a shaky breath. “My name is Laurel.” Artemis’s stomach clenches. Apollo looks like he might be ill as he climbs into the passenger seat. He knows where the first laurel tree still grows, nearly as old as the surrounding hills.

Artemis starts the car and within minutes they’re speeding out of the city, turning off the highway onto winding back roads, and she rolls all the windows down to feel the wind in her hair and focuses on that to still the angry shaking of her hands. “Hey Art, does Hecate know we’re coming?” Apollo asks as they turn up the long dirt driveway, past a sign that says Crossroads Farm in fading purple paint.

“She always knows.”

Sure enough, the front porch light is on and lights are shining through the front windows. “We’re here,” Artemis announces for Laurel’s benefit as she parks.

“Where are we?” Laurel’s voice fills with fear. Artemis’s heart shatters into a thousand pieces, for what must be the thousandth time tonight.

“Crossroads Farm,” Artemis tells her, voice gentler than Apollo’s ever heard it. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”

“Who are you?” Laurel looks at them with wide, suspicious eyes and hugs hard enough around Aristo’s neck that he whines.

“Artemis, and this is my brother, Apollo.” Artemis waves her hand vaguely in the direction of her brother’s faintly shining face and ridiculous yellow t-shirt. They aren’t so ancient that their names are completely unfamiliar, because Artemis can see recognition stirring in Laurel’s fearful brown eyes.

“Like the ancient Greeks?”

Apollo nods. “Something like that. Come on, you’ll like Hecate.”

Before Artemis can stop him, he reaches toward Laurel’s hand to guide her up the steps. The mortal recoils from him, and Apollo looks so heartbroken Artemis almost pities him. She reminds herself he doesn’t know any better yet--he’s never spent time with a girl like Laurel before. He doesn’t understand the panic in her veins, the constant nagging fear she’ll carry with her for the rest of her life. He’s never heard a girl wake screaming from a nightmare she can’t stop reliving every time she closes her eyes.

“Shouldn’t we go to the police station?” Laurel asks, but she follows Artemis up the front porch steps anyway. Apollo walks a respectful distance behind her, half-dejected and half-protective, but completely silent. When Artemis opens the door, Hecate is already sitting at the scrubbed pine table with four steaming mugs of tea, the picture of serenity.

Hecate was called Iphigenia once, and she was the first mortal Artemis rescued; led to a gleaming sacrificial knife by a man who was supposed to protect her. She understands, in a way Artemis will never be able to, the fear and the guilt and the panic that feels like it can stop your lungs from filling. “Hi,” Hecate says simply, gesturing at the mugs. Laurel takes the empty seat beside her, and Artemis pointedly sits in the chair beside Laurel. Apollo huffs as he takes the seat furthest from her. “It’s herbal tea,” Hecate says, answering the girl’s unspoken question. “It will help you sleep without dreams.”

Laurel nods, wraps her hands around the warm ceramic mug and inhales deeply. “It smells good.” She hesitates, her eyes dancing over the three deities. “Are--are you really Greek gods?”

Artemis is proud of Apollo, for once, for the way he doesn’t let his face fall. She knows there’s nothing like a tragedy to unravel a mortal’s world; she’s seen it more times than she cares to remember and yet she can’t forget any of them. If something like this can happen--stories that happen on the evening news, to other people--then stories older than street lamps and cars can happen, too.

“Yes.” Artemis has found, through trial and error, through centuries, that simplicity works best.

“Artemis is the protector of young girls,” Apollo says, like that explains everything. “She’s been doing this--geez, for how long, Art?” He’s trying too hard to act casual, but Artemis can see he’s shaken. It takes some getting used to; this is only his first time and she has literal millenia of practice. She takes a deep breath and reminds herself to be patient.

“Since mortals stopped protecting their own daughters. When police began asking a girl what she was wearing, instead of asking a boy why he felt he had the right to take her sense of safety away.”

“Right. That long.”

“I was the first she saved,” Hecate volunteers conversationally. “Back when Troy still stood tall on its hill.”

“That clears things up,” Apollo mutters, rolling his eyes conspiratorially at Laurel. She rewards him with a tiny smile, and Artemis is half-surprised he doesn’t jump up and dance. He only grins, and she knows he’ll take whatever victory he can get even if it doesn’t feel like enough. A smile from Laurel won’t erase his past mistakes.

“It should clear things up, you were there,” Artemis reminds him. “You built the walls of Troy with your own hands.”

“Yeah, look how well that worked out.” Apollo pouts into his tea, unable to let go of that centuries-old sting. “Fucking Eris and her fucking apple.”

Artemis raises an eyebrow. “That was literally ages ago. We have other problems now.” Apollo follows her gaze as it rests on Laurel, sipping her tea and watching them with open fascination.

“How is this even my life?” Laurel wonders aloud.

Apollo shrugs, apparently having recovered from his earlier unease. “You’re just lucky, I guess.” The joke falls flat, he hisses in a breath and scrambles to fix his mistake. “Sorry, Jesus, I’m so sorry.” Tea sloshes over the side of his mug as he sets it down carelessly and reaches across the table for Laurel’s hand. She withdraws it and stares flatly into the contents of her mug.

Apollo’s face is crestfallen as he looks to Artemis for guidance, and she’s amazed that a god can be so painfully dumb. “Smooth,” she barks, patience momentarily snapped. Aristo rests his head on Laurel’s lap, much more comforting than Apollo could ever be, and she strokes him silently.

“Laurel,” Apollo begins, but she cuts him off with a shake of the head.

“It’s fine. Can-can I stay here tonight?” Her eyes are wide and wary as she turns to Hecate.

“Of course. I’ll show you to your room.” The gentle goddess stands, leading the exhausted mortal down the hallway to the left of the kitchen, through the living room, and toward the bedrooms in the back. They’ve done this too many times since Hecate bought this place a couple decades ago; there’s a dozen bedrooms here reserved for the girls Artemis brings. Sometimes they only stay for one night, sometimes for a week, sometimes they’ll leave and show up again unannounced months later, dark circles under their eyes and a constant tension in their shoulders.

Hecate never turns them away, only cooks them meals with the vegetables from her garden and gives them tea to help them sleep. They spend their days outside, reading in the sunlight or roaming with Artemis and her dogs, wearing loose chitons and carrying bows. There’s two other girls here besides Laurel; Kate, the girl Artemis helped last night, and Andrea, who showed up here a week ago and cried in Hecate’s arms again.

“Artemis,” Hecate calls down the hall, interrupting her thoughts, “can Aristo sleep with Laurel tonight?”

Artemis hates to relinquish her hunting partner, but he looks up at her with soft eyes, and she knows he would rather spend the night cuddling with Laurel than chasing her attacker. “Make sure Pelea has the scent,” she tells the dog. He wags his tail once in agreement and pushes through the doggy door to find Pelea. “He’ll be there soon,” Artemis calls back.

She and Apollo sit in silence, Apollo fidgeting with his empty mug as Artemis waits for her dogs. They’re only gone for a few minutes, Aristo trotting in with Pelea on his heels. He bumps his snout against his mistress’s hand as he trots by. Pelea rests her head on Artemis’s lap, tail wagging as Artemis scratches her ears.

A few minutes later Hecate glides into the kitchen on silent feet and sighs as she sits at the head of the table. “She’s settled in with Aristo. When are you guys going?” Artemis ducks her head to look out the window, squints up at the huge, bright hunter’s moon, and looks over at her brother.

“Ready for part two?”

“What’s part two?” His voice is apprehensive, and Artemis thinks it’s hilarious. She likes that she can still surprise him even after millenia.

She smiles wolfishly as she stands and stretches, slow and lazy. “The hunt.”

“Oh. I was wondering why you went by Agrotera earlier.” It’s an epithet he hadn’t heard her use in at least a few centuries, but it was one of the earliest used to describe her. Artemis Agrotera. Artemis of the Hunt.

She rolls her eyes so hard, she can practically see the back of her own skull. “Don’t tell me you still go by Phoebus.”

He shakes his head, looking away. “I stopped using my epithets a long time ago.”

Artemis steps forward and grips his chin, forcing him to face her. She hates the shame she sees there, but she knows it’s been a long time coming. “Apollo Akesios,” she says softly, firmly. “Averter of evil.” Sometimes even gods need to be reminded who they are.

“I don’t deserve that one. Maybe I never did.” His voice is low and full of sadness, but Artemis isn’t about to let him get away with wallowing. Self-loathing isn’t becoming for the god of the sun.

“Then earn it now. I don’t have time for your pity-party, Apollo, I have hunting to do. You can either hang out here and mope over Laurel--and we both know it isn’t really about her, anyway--or you can help me catch the asshole who did this.” She releases his chin; he rubs his jaw ruefully. Her grip had slowly tightened the more worked up she became.

“Fine, Art, geez. But tomorrow I’m going to Greece.”

“Tell Daphne if she ever wants to be human again, she has a place here,” Hecate interjects from the table. Apollo waves a hand in acknowledgement, trying to ignore the way his stomach drops at the name. He’s barely finished composing himself by the time Artemis is halfway out the door, and he starts after her with a muttered curse. They slide into her silver car, and he doesn’t have time to buckle his seatbelt before she’s peeling down the driveway.

“You can help me with this anytime you want, you know,” Artemis tells him, voice raised to be heard over the wind roaring through the windows. She’s tired of seeing her brother so lost, so far removed from the god he once was. They all are, except maybe Hades, because there will always be death. But hunting like this, protecting young girls like she used to, it reminds Artemis of who she is. She wants this feeling for her brother, too, because she loves him dearer than all the world of mortals.

“I’m not much of a hunter, Art.”

“No, but you invented medicine. You’re a healer. These girls, they need someone. Hecate does what she can, but sometimes it isn’t enough. Sometimes it takes more than herbal tea and an essential oil diffuser. For some of them, positive energy and sunlight doesn’t cut it. Hecate’s a minor goddess, but you? God of the sun, remember? Inventor of medicine and music and poetry. And Selene, she makes the moon shine brighter for them so they’re never caught out in the dark, but you can teach them to carry sunlight in their hearts again. You don’t have to hunt with me, after tonight. But when you get back from Greece,” she shrugs, “there’s a purpose for you, if you want it.”

Apollo doesn’t have to answer, because Pelea barks suddenly from the backseat. Artemis barely checks her blind spot as she pulls over, parking so quickly she scrapes her tire against the curb. She jumps out of the car and opens the back door for Pelea. Apollo unfolds himself from his seat and jogs alongside Artemis, following the hound.

“When did you train your dogs to do this?” He wonders idly, not expecting an answer.

“A couple hundred years ago, maybe? Around the time Ivar the Boneless invaded Ireland.”

“That was over a thousand years ago, Art.” He looks at her, bemused, knowing she doesn’t care about the specifics. It’s important to him, though. They’ve never kept secrets from each other, and this stings more than he wants to admit. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“You and Hermes sort of disappeared for a century or so, I didn’t want to bother you.” Apollo tries to remember this specific disappearance, thinks maybe it was when he and Hermes hung out with Calypso on her island for a while. It’s nice to leave the world sometimes. Pelea trots easily in front of them, scenting the cool breeze, and the moon is huge and high in the sky. It’s barely past the middle of the night.

“Where’s she taking us?” Apollo grumbles. Artemis, ever the patient hunter, smiles serenely at him and doesn’t grace him with an answer. Pelea’s tail wags in slow arcs. Artemis knows they’re getting closer but she enjoys the pursuit. She hopes the boy is laying in his bed, unable to sleep, feeling in his cowardly bones that vengeance is coming to him. She wants to hope he feels guilty but knows he probably doesn’t, so the most she ever hopes for is fear.

Pelea bays, just once, the sound that used to be the death-song of so many stags, and Artemis hopes the boy shivers at the sound. She sees him in the distance, a shadow against the horizon, a dark shape moving between houses. Pelea takes off after him eagerly, Artemis and Apollo hot on her heels. Pelea veers around to cut off his escape as the twins reach him.

Artemis reaches out, a pale arrow clasped in her hand, and rubs the shining silver point down the length of his spine. “I told you I would find you,” she croons, sing-song as a baying hound.

He stops dead in his tracks so suddenly that Apollo nearly crashes into him. Artemis strokes the arrow down the boy’s back again. She rubs her hand almost seductively along the back of his neck, leans closer, and whispers in his ear, “Turn around and face me.” She releases her hold, lets the arrowhead drag along his shoulder and chest as he obeys her. She tickles him lightly with the tip, just above the place where his heart beats so hard she can see the pulse throbbing in his neck. “Do you remember my name?”

He nods frantically, too terrified to speak. A sharp smell reaches her nose, she glances down to the spreading stain on the front of his jeans and clucks disapprovingly. “What was my name, again?” She drags the arrow up to the wildly thudding pulse at the juncture of his chin and neck.

“Art--Artemis A--Agro….” he trails off, she increases the pressure until he starts bawling. “Agrotera,” he chokes. She nods, pleased, and eases back just a bit.

“I’m not going to kill you,” she purrs, arrow still pressed against his throat. “This time. A quick death is too merciful for men like you.” She sighs, as if she regrets that. “In Sparta, where they worshipped me centuries ago, they gave all their women small knives. That way, if a man ever tried to force himself upon her, she could slash him across the face and the entire world would know what he did. That was a good time for women, when they didn’t need me to protect them.” She stares him down with eerie, unblinking silver eyes. “Do you know her name? The girl you attacked?”

He shakes his head, and Artemis gently traces the tip of the arrowhead along his jawline. “Her name is Laurel. She’s twenty years old and has a little brother, and she’s studying biology in college. She wants to be a cancer researcher, and travel the world, and she always loved the night until you made her afraid of it.” Artemis pauses, gives him a soft smile. “So now I want you to be afraid of it, too. I think they had it right in Sparta, all that time ago.”

Quick as thought, she darts the arrow up and slices along his cheekbone. The slash is clean, surgically precise, and will heal in a narrow, smooth pink scar. It’s high enough up that a beard will never hide it. “That custom is long dead, more’s the pity.” She shrugs, twirls the arrow so that it flashes in the moonlight, and tastes the dark blood on the silver arrowhead with the tip of her tongue. “Coward’s blood, I knew it. No descendent of Sparta.” She brings the arrow up again and runs it down the slope of his nose. “No one will know why there’s a slash on your face except you. Every time you look in the mirror, you’ll remember what you did. That is my first gift to you.”

She smiles, as if he’s just won the grand prize on a game show. There’s something feral in her eyes, a wildness mortals thought dead long ago. The boy is shaking uncontrollably. A first gift implies a second, and he doesn’t want anything except for this to be a dream. “So my first gift was knowledge, and my second is a promise.” She looks at him like she’s waiting for him to thank her.

When he’s silent, she shrugs and continues. She inspects the arrow as she speaks, not looking at him. He doesn’t deserve the attention of her gaze. “I promise that I will be watching you until the day you die. I promise that if you ever do this again, if you ever raise your hand to a woman, I will be the last thing you see.”

She reaches down, scratches Pelea’s ears affectionately. “This is Pelea. The dog I had with me earlier was Aristo. They’ve been alive longer than this country.” She gestures vaguely with the arrow; he instinctively raises his arms to protect his face. Artemis tries to hide the savage pleasure this brings her, but can’t quite keep the triumph from her ice-cold eyes. “They were given to me by Pan, the god of shepherds and wild places. Did you know he invented panic?” She tilts her head thoughtfully. “I perfected it, though.” The moonlight gleams off her perfect white teeth as she smiles.

“Once they have your scent, they can find you anywhere in the world. There is nowhere you can hide, nowhere my hounds cannot find you.” Her voice is mild, almost pleasant, and it makes the boy sob with a terror that’s older than instinct. Centuries ago, humans feared the gods; that fear is buried just beneath the surface of their conscious minds. It’s nearly effortless for Artemis to awaken it. “Do you understand me, mortal?”

He nods rapidly.

Artemis smiles and steps back. “Good. You may go now.”

She turns on her heel, crisp as a soldier on parade, and walks gracefully toward the car with Pelea roaming ahead to sniff a tree trunk. Apollo glances at the boy, takes in the abject terror and awe on his face as he watches Artemis walk away, and gives the boy a smile that could be mistaken for friendly before he follows his sister. The walk is quiet, with only the swishing of their feet through dew-damp grass and Pelea’s deep whuffs as she scents the air. Artemis opens the back door and the hound leaps in happily.

The twins climb into their seats and buckle their seatbelts, and Artemis drives them out of the city back toward Hecate’s farm. “Can’t you take me back to the apartment?” Apollo whines, not sure if he can face those girls when he can still remember Daphne morphing into a laurel tree to escape his touch.

“I like to be there when they wake up. Someday, you will, too.”

“After Greece, maybe.”

“You’ve waited too long to apologize.”

“I waited too long to learn my mistakes,” Apollo corrects.

She smiles over at him, full of pride. “I knew you would, though. I hoped it would be centuries ago, but better late than never.” She shrugs, like a few centuries isn’t a big deal when you can never die. “If I’d known hunting was what would make you realize, I would have taken you with me a long time ago.”

“Art, that was…. He looked at you like they all used to look at us. You were terrifying. I haven’t seen you like that in thousands of years. Agrotera, indeed.”

She smiles, pleased. “Mortals haven’t changed much, really.” She turns up the long dirt driveway of Crossroads Farm. Hecate left the porch light on for them, but the windows are dark this time. Artemis puts the car in park and kills the engine before she turns in her seat and fixes her bright silver eyes on him. “So will you be here in the morning?”

She’s really asking if he wants to see Laurel again, and Apollo knows it. And he does want to, but he can’t. Not yet. First he needs to see a different laurel, a tree nearly as old as the hills and twice as wise.

He shakes his head. “I’ll be in Greece at first light. Tell Laurel,” he blows out a breath between pursed lips. “Tell her I’ll be back by dinner.”

“I’ll tell her, if she asks,” Artemis promises, knowing she probably won’t. She hopes Apollo doesn’t pick up on that, but his face falls before he can stop it. She’s spent millenia reading his emotions, and her heart breaks into a thousand pieces for what must be the millionth time that night. She draws her twin into a hug. “Good luck, Apollo Akesios.”

He wraps his arms around her. “I promise I won’t disappear for a century this time. This is my place now, just like yours.” He ends the hug and straightens, brows pinched together in the middle. “Should we end the lease on the apartment?”

“No. That’s my base of operations in the city. I just let you crash there because you were a broke street musician.”

Apollo huffs, offended. “Not anymore, though. I’ll see you tomorrow, Art.” He sighs and rolls his jaw. Artemis nods and opens the car door. When she reaches the porch and turns back to the car, the passenger seat is empty. She opens the door and steps into the kitchen. She hangs her gleaming silver bow on the hook by front door and tiptoes down the hallway.

She peeks into three bedrooms, at the girls finally able to sleep peacefully, snoring hounds curled up at their feet. It’s not adoration like she once had, but it’s still a home, and these healing girls are just as much a family as her band of huntresses ever were. For what must be the first time that night, she thinks her heart might be whole.

#modern mythology #greek goddesses #artemis #apollo #hecate #iphigenia #selene #greek mythology #modern greek mythology

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